noxeno

11:51 pm: The Struggle to Continue
Dear Reader, I do apologize for taking so long to post. I have thought about this journal every day.

First and foremost, I am having difficulty putting words to my memories. The thoughts are coming to me out of order and jumbled. I would like to be concise with this chronology. Second, my little princess has not taken a long enough nap lately for me to even consider a hobby (aka writing here).

As soon as my heart allows, I will return and write more.

As soon as my little miracle can sleep like a baby again, I will return and write more.

Until then, this story and this "purge" is not far from my thoughts.

12:01 am: 1989
I don't remember the first time I met B. But I do know that intially my mom was mad at him when she found out he was still married while they were dating.

I do remember one time when he came to eat dinner with us. He sat on the floor with us in the living room rather than at the dining room table. Which was a huge feat for such a large man. I like him because, he didn't like my mom's corn casserole. My brother and I never liked it either. So, it made me feel close to him. In all actuality, she has never made corn casserole to this day. Thank god.

I used to call him Bill. I have no idea why. But it made my mom very angry when I would do it. She never dated anyone named Bill that I knew of, but I just couldn't help myself. B didn't seem to mind, but I still made every effort to call him by his actual name. After all, it made my mom happy.

Finally, we decided to mix families. B came in with his son, M. M was 5. When they walked in, M was so short that his arm stretched to its highest could barely reach B's hand at its lowest. M was perky and cute. His perfect blonde hair was straight as a board and cut in a bowl shape. His blue eyes looked at all of us with such approval and excitement that I felt calm the instant I saw his face.

I don't remember much about M being so young. I just clearly remember the first time I saw his precious, soft face. I remember wanting nothing more than to hug him and to watch him smile.

But, times they were a-changin'. Faster than any of us knew.

11:55 pm: The Divorce - 1989
My mom and R ended up divorcing and W ended up moving out with nothing more than a note to my brother and I.

So, then it was just us three.

But, by then, we were so screwed up that anything resembling a team had been far beaten down and removed from reality.

I was confused and scared.

Brent was abused and angry.

And then came her next husband, B, and his son, M.

11:45 pm: My Life with R - Continued
One afternoon, I came home to homework and chores. I was in the 6th grade.

I vacuumed the carpet and proceeded to complete my homework. My fellow classmates knew me as "School Girl". Which they never failed to throw at me with complete disdain. It was horribly embarrasing.

R came home and saw that I had vacuumed. He asked if I had swept the baseboards also. I said no. He proceeded to yell at me for not sweeping the baseboards. He screamed for a long time about it.

I went out onto the patio where my mother had once asked for permission to bring this asshole into our house and I shrank down on to the pavement. The door didn't shut entirely so he could continue to scream at me.

I looked to my left and saw a yellow handled screw driver. I felt such a compulsion. Such a drive. To open my skin with it. I took it to my left upper thigh and pressed it into my skin as far as I could while hearing him rant. It opened my leg up. And I bled.

Life cleared at that one moment and his voice faded. I was simply bleeding at that point. The tool I used was dirty and careless but it worked.

From then on I was hooked. Each time he would yell or beat at my mom, I would punch myself or cut myself open just to dull the sound and the horror I felt knowing there was no one there to protect me.

Where was my dad, you might ask? He was there. I visited him according to court schedule, but never shared with him my fears or my worries about life back in San Antonio.

Once I had a cold that caused my nose to run. We all sat at dinner and I continued to sniff to keep my nose from running down my face. R became so enfuriated that he told me to stop eating and leave dinner. Not to return.

At the end of my 6th grade year, my mom divorced R. He had gone to Charter for 30 days (for which my mom spent thousands of dollars and many tears) and not even that helped. He still spent all of our money on beer and still came home to yell at us. He did bring me a small desk-like thing that he had created in his sober time. I still have it. I still hate it.

11:37 pm: Dammit - Back to the Beginning
Dear reader, I apologize for going back to where I had already been, but I realized that I had left out a very important memory of mine.

We were living back in those apartments in Austin where my mom was the manager. I was about 8 and my brother was 4. My mother was about 31. I woke up to my mother kicking the washing machine that was a mere 6 feet from our open bedroom door. I stepped outside of my bedroom and saw her crying as she leaned onto the washing machine. I asked her what was wrong. She said that the washing machine had flooded the floor again and she didn't know what to do this time. She cried and cried.

We ended up sitting on the stairs in between my bedroom and the washing machine. She sat the at top step and I sat about four or five steps below her. I remember feeling so cold that I tucked my legs inside my gown as she spoke and cried. She went on about how scared she was that we would not make it and that she had no money. She said that she didn't have anything to give my brother and me for breakfast or lunch except for donuts from the front office.

I told her that I loved donuts and I knew that my brother did too. I don't remember if this made her feel better. But this was the beginning of me making other people feel better for the sake of my own security and peace of mind. I was so frightened. I just wanted to crawl back into bed and pretend this was all a dream. My brother, to this day, has no idea of this conversation. No idea as to the weakness my mother showed me.

01:12 pm: My Life with R
Shortly after R moved in, he and my mother were married at the Justice of the Peace downtown.

He was a diabetic that needed to inject himself with insulin on a daily basis - sometimes more than once a day. We kept candy bars in our refrigerator in case his sugar dropped. We were not to touch them under any circumstances. I would learn, very soon, that he was also an alcoholic.

Around this time, life gets kind of blurry for me. So here are some random memories.

Towards the end of N's time with us, she would call me at a friend's house and ask me to run home. I would run home as fast as possible, run upstairs to her room and open the door only to be asked to change the channel on her TV. She was seriously overweight and apparently had trouble getting out of bed. At another time, she told me that if my mom died that she would retain custody of my brother and myself. I cried and said that wasn't true and I would go to my dad. She insisted that was not true and that my mother had already agreed to it. She sat there and laughed while I cried and cried thinking I would have to live with her for life.

At some point, my mother decides to kick her out. I was estatic. Her departure, however, marked the arrival of my uncle. We will call him W. He was 19 when he moved in with us. He and my brother shared a room and I finally got my own room. W would frequently beat on my brother for no reason until my brother screamed. It was a miserable existence for my little brother I am sure.

Now to a memory of R. We went to this restaurant about 3 or 4 miles from home. It was an Australian-type place with beers and food. It was fun. Well, during dinner, my mom grew frustrated with R and asked my brother and I to go sit outside for a spell. While we were sitting outside, I could see them arguing. Finally, my mom came out and got us and took us to the car. As we drove away, I asked if R was coming. She said that he can get home himself without us.

We went home and went to bed. In the middle of the night, I heard boots smacking the driveway as someone ran up to our house. I knew it was R. He proceeded to ring the door bell repeatedly. I woke up W. W called the cops but asked me not to tell my mom that he did as such. I never told her. Eventually, the police showed up. Probably about three cars with their lights flashing and their high beams on. They had R off of our property, basically in the street, and asked for my mom to come out. We woke her up and she went downstairs. The cops later drove away and my mom and R came inside. R began to yell at my mom and throw things. He was definitely drunk. I went into my brother's room, woke him up and took him into my room since it was the furthest from the downstairs area where the melee was occurring.

I told my brother that we needed to go to DreamLand. DreamLand was a place that he and I had invented where we could ride rollercoaster rides, buy candy, eat yummy food and just have fun together in our minds. We experienced the cotton candy together and the steep drops of the speedy rollercoasters together too. We got to DreamLand by kicking our feet as fast as possible until we arrived there. We played and played in our heads until he fell asleep. My mom came in to check on us later thanking me for taking my brother to my bed.

The next morning, my mom woke me up and asked me to come say hi to R. She said that he was hit by a car while running home and he needed a hug from me. She said not to mention anything about last night and to be nice and say that I loved him. She always made me tell him that I loved him. I said it but I never meant it.

-- My baby is awake now. I have to go. More later.

01:03 pm: San Antonio Life 1988
As I stated in my previous journal entry, we moved to San Antonio in March of 1988. New school. At this time my brother was 6. [If you haven't guessed already, we are four years apart. I won't do the math for you anymore.]

We moved into a small neighborhood full of townhomes (again, I loved townhomes). It was gated and was one great big circle of a neighborhood. Not a cul-de-sac, but the only road in the entire neighborhood made a complete circle. It made for some very entertaining bicycle riding. One part of the road made a very steep incline/decline. Probably about 20 degrees.

My brother and I shared a room again. My mean aunt - we will call her N as I grow tired of calling her my mean aunt - had her own room and my mom had her own room. All of the bedrooms were upstairs. It was a really neat townhome. But the washing machine was upstairs and the dryer was in the garage downstairs. That sucked because wet laundry weighs a ton.

My 5th grade teacher was a trip because she looked like she was still living in the 60s with her thick metallic eyeshadow and her long thick false eyelashes. She would fall asleep in class constantly. I met what would become my best friend in my home room class. We will call her D. She and I hit it off immediately. It was good to have made a friend so fast. I made other friends in that class but none that I would know for longer than 5th grade.

Around this time, my mom met a man that we will call R. He was quite gregarious and made my mom very happy. She would sit on the couch looking so sad until the phone rang. She would run to the phone, I am sure hoping it was R. When it was, her entire demeanor would improve. I liked him. He was funny and friendly and seemed to like my brother and me. One afternoon while sitting on the patio with my mom, she asked how I would feel if R moved in. I shrugged and said that I wouldn't mind. I don't know how much time passed between that day and the day he moved in, but I do know it was really fast.

My life with R would come to be the most difficult, heart-wrenching, devestating time of my adolescence.

12:58 pm: The Beginning - Continued and Completed
Alright, reader. Welcome back. Where was I?

Oh yes, the chalkboard incident. Well that was a mere example of how this mean aunt treated my brother. At one point, she had me stand "spread eagle" against a wall in her bedroom while she beat me with a wooden salad spoon. My brother and I persevered through her.

At some point, we moved again in Austin. We moved in with my mother's dad and his wife (my step-grandmother). New school. I shared a room with my mean aunt and my brother shared a room with our crazy uncle. He was 17 or 18 at the time. I enjoyed my time there at my grandparent's house. I don't remember much about it being negative or forlorn.

In March of my fifth grade year, we moved to San Antonio. This, I consider, is where my life truly began to degrade. The mean aunt moved with us, though she wouldn't be around for long.

04:32 pm: The Beginning - What I Recall
Now, before I begin, reader, you must know that I am aware that perspective is a mere fraction of reality and that recalling any event - regardless of how recently it occurred - is by no means an exact science. I do realize that what I am attempting to revisit may be shaky at times, vague, and possibly even imagined. But, it is a memory that I have and I give it the same validity of realism as I give to typing on this laptop right now.

June of 1977 I was born in Garland TX to a 23-year-old mother and a 26-year-old father. My mom told me many times that she had to trick my dad into getting her pregnant. She said that she would tell him that she was using a contraceptive, when in fact, she wasn't. She claims that is how my younger brother and I came to be.

Three months after my birth, my mother's mom (who I have only seen once since I was 4), noticed that my right leg was shorter than my left leg. It was determined that I was born with a dislocated hip. My parents had very little money (not poor, just not rich) for the surgeries that I needed. Shriner Hospital in Dallas offered to do an experimental procedure to replace my hip for free. My parents agreed. The surgery was LASER surgery. I do not believe they cut me open at all. I have no scars anywhere in that area.

The surgery was performed and I wore three different braces to maintain the integrity of my newly relocated hip. One brace was full-body. I could do nothing but grip our red-orange shag carpet between my 3 month old fingers and drag myself around the living room floor. According to my mom, I adapted quickly to this new mode of locomotion. Then I was placed in a sling that made me sit like a frog. My toes fit into small caps and suspenders pulled my legs up to my chest so I would sit like a frog would. Again, I had to drag myself everywhere. Finally, I was placed in a brace that pushed my legs out to 180 degrees. Like doing the splits all day. My mom recalls that the home physical therapy was painful for me, but it was all worth it. I walk like a bitch on a mission and have no recollection of the pain.

My childhood was amazing. I remember one Christmas where I felt like my mom and dad had purchased an entire Toys R Us store for my brother and myself. Play Dough, Snoopy table with four chair, Miss PacMan tiny arcade game, clothes. The list goes on and on.

Then, I turned 6. I was sitting in my mother's lap. I was crying saying that I wanted my daddy. She said "His apartment complex has a pool you can swim in." I told her that I didn't care about a pool. I wanted my dad. Apparently, they were divorcing and my family would never be the same again. My mom, to this day, denies this event ever occurring, but I remember it so clearly. So very clearly. My mother claims that I didn't even notice my dad had left. She said it took days for me to ask where he was. And when she answered that he had moved out, she said I shrugged and kept walking. This - I know - is completely false and would be the beginning of a string of lies that would ultimately separate my mother and me for a long time.

My mother, my brother and I moved out of Garland in the middle of my third grade year. We moved to Dallas (not far away at all, but a new school for my brother and myself). We lived with my aunt and her boyfriend in a townhome. I loved townhomes. Tall ceilings, bright sunlight, dark red indian looking tiles on the kitchen floor. We lived in two townhomes in Dallas before moving to Austin when I was 9. Another new school. We lived in an apartment complex that my mom managed. Our apartment was connected to the management office. It was an odd set up, but it worked.

My mom had the occassional boyfriend, but the one I remember the most was named Winn or Wynn or something like that. I remember one time I woke up in the middle of the night and called down the stairs to my mom. Wynn answered back saying that she wasn't home and that she would be right back. He asked if I wanted to come downstairs to watch TV with him. [I felt so alone. Why would she leave us in the night?] I said No and went back to the room my brother and I shared.

Another night my mom woke up my brother and I and asked if we wanted to go for a drive. We, of course, went. She drove us to a restaurant or bar and said she was looking for Wynn. I was still in my pajamas and so was my brother. He fell back to sleep in the car. I didn't. I saw Wynn through a window at this place and told my mom. She got out of the car. Left us in the parking lot and went inside to confront him for something he must have done wrong. I don't know. But I never saw Wynn again.

We moved elsewhere in Austin shortly after. New school. This time another aunt moved in with us. I was still 9 and my brother was 5. She was probably 18 or 19. She was very overweight and quite miserable. My mom asked her to take care of my brother and myself in exchange for school or free rent and living expenses. I don't exactly know their agreement, but I know I wish another one had been made. This woman did nothing but torture me with mind games and my brother with verbal abuse.

I had this large chalkboard that my brother and I used to play on. I would play teacher and I would teach him math and writing. One night I ran across the street to a friend's house for a brief conversation. When I returned no one was playing with the chalkboard anymore. My mean aunt (I don't want to use her real name) told me that my brother was in our room and he had something to tell us. I entered the room to see my brother sitting on our bed sulking. Looking quite upset. I sat down next to him and asked him what was the matter. He said "Sissy, I broke one of your chalks." I was shocked that he would be so upset about that. I said, "So what? It is just chalk. We have lots more. I don't care about that." His eyes brightened and he perked up. My mean aunt said "No! He broke your chalk and he needs to be punished!" I said, "It is my chalk and I don't care!" It didn't matter to her. She punished him.

My mom had found a job in San Antonio at this point and was gone for weeks at a time working. So, she was unaware of many of these events.

- My little girl is crying. I have to go for now.

04:28 pm: The Journal of a 21st Century College Graduate Housewife
So, here I am. On LiveJournal. Originally here to read the LJ of my stepbrother's girlfriend. Someway to get to know her. Now, I think I might start dumping my thoughts here, too.

I think what I will do is start from the beginning. The beginning of my meaningful life. Of my trainwreck life.

Who knows if I will keep it up. Who knows if I will be able to handle the retrospect.

Maybe we will all just look back on this and laugh [cry] [worry] [cringe].