Wednesday, November 9, 2016

A Letter To The Woman Supposed To Be My Mother.

Yesterday was my birthday, and I wanted more than anything to call you. To hear you tell me "happy birthday"

But you didn't call. 

I didn't expect you to. 

But this part, deep deep down in my heart wanted you to. 

We don't have a relationship, like normal people do. Because I chose to cut you out of my life. 

Most people ask me if it hurts, not talking to you. and it does. It's hurts like a knife in my throat. 

But let's be honest. You caused this. 

I have put myself through so much hell trying to save you. Hell trying to raise you, like I'm your mother. 

I have always been there for you. I have put my life on hold trying to rescue you. To save you from yourself. From your abusive husband. From the alcohol. 

I will always love you. But I have to love you from a far away distance. 

I have so many bad memories from my life with you. So many crazy things that a child should never have to go through. 

I could name all the shitty things you've said to me, or done to me. A list that some people would be appalled at. 

People say that you can't love someone else until you love yourself. And because of you, I've never loved myself. I've hurt myself trying to be someone worthy or your love. 

I've always thought that it's something I've done. Something I caused that made you choose alcohol or that man over me. 

The truth is, I've been carrying your burden on my shoulders. And it's too heavy for me anymore. I can't do it. I can't blame myself for your choices. Not anymore. 

I've tried convincing myself that someday you would realize that I'm worth you changing. But I can't make you change. I can't be the reason you get sober. Or leave him. I'm not the problem and I'm not perfect, and never will be. I can't be good enough for you. 

I have to be good enough for myself. 

I have to stop blaming myself. 

I have to stop carrying your burden. 

I have to move on. I have to work on myself and the life I want to have. 

For now that means I can't be around you. 

I do this thing, where I leave the door cracked open for you. For you to come back in to my life. 

But the door has been shut. Three locks on it. 

That doesn't mean that I don't love you. I always will. 

But the main thing I want to say to you is, I forgive you. For all the fucked up things you've done to me. For all the ways you've hurt me. I forgive you. 

Not for you. But for me. 

Because I have to, for me to move on with my life. 

Friday, June 17, 2016

An Open Letter To The Man Who Left Me Alone And Pregnant

I hate to admit it but, sometimes I think about you. Especially with Father's Day coming up. 

I wonder who you are. Who you've become. 

Did you ever tell your parents that you have a child?

Do you ever think about us?

But then I remember, you left us. 

You moved on. Without us. 

Do you know that she is the most beautiful thing in this world?

That she is all happiness and smiles? That she is loved and adored? 

That sometimes when she smiles, she looks like you? 

How about that she wiggles her eyebrows like me?

I don't think you do. 

Man are you missing out. 

I almost feel sorry for you. 

You walked away. Of sound body and mind. You chose this not me. 

And sometimes that hurts. Bad. 

But then I remember, even if you chose this, that she has a dad. 

One that will never walk away from her. He will never not want her. 

He is amazing. He holds her hand, and loves her more than life. Watching him with her, you know that even in the darkest times he will stand by her. You can see the love in his eyes. 

I understand that at that time, you made a decision for yourself. I accept that. 

And I forgive you. 

I wish you nothing but happiness. 

That is what I wanted to say. 

I forgive you. I hold no grudges. 

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Sometimes Things Change

I always felt like a mother to my mother. At a young age, I went from feeling like a kid who was carefree, to a full grown adult. I remember too many times to count, putting my mother to bed and cleaning up the house. Throwing away the empty beer and liquor bottles. Cleaning up the spilt ones. 

I thought that it was okay. 

I thought that that was what I was supposed to do. 

I can remember the first time I felt like my family wasn't normal. A friend had asked me to stay the night, and I had to make up an excuse for why she couldn't. 

Funny how that one moment could lead to so many more excuses and strained friendships. 

My sister and I have always told each other that, we would never be like our mom. That we wouldn't repeat the mistakes she had made. 

I wanted to be the perfect mom. I wanted to always be there for my kids and never have to worry that they might think I didn't love them. 

Life never goes the way we want it to. NEVER. 

I tried. I really did. 

I thought I had had it all together. I was married and happy. Or so I thought. 

Then in a whirlwind everything changed. 

I've told people the story of how I chose adoption. But I told you the good side. The things that make me sound like a saint. 

But the truth is, I ain't a saint. 

I got pregnant by a guy I didn't even know. I made a drunken mistake with a guy who's last name I didn't know. 

What a mess I was. 

So I guess here's the truth. All of it. 


It started one sad lonely night. I was upset and had quite a bit to drink. I called a guy who's number I had. I slept with him. Wasn't careful. Didn't protect myself. And a few weeks later I realized that I hadn't started my period. I took three tests and they all came out positive. 

I bawled like a baby. 

I called my mom into the bathroom and showed her. She was shocked and didn't believe that I was actually pregnant. She asked me what I was going to do. I didn't know. I called the guy, let's call him joe. 

His number was disconnected. 

I freaked. 

What was I going to do??

So I did the only logical/stalker thing to do. I searched all over Facebook until I found his profile which had a number listed. I called the number and it went to voicemail. It was his. I sent him a text and told him we needed to talk. 

He told me if it was bad news he didn't want to hear it. 

So I told him I was pregnant. 

He responded and I quote, "get an abortion."

He said that to me. Literally the first thing he said to me. (What an asshole.)

He started calling me back to back. But I didn't answer. I couldn't. I didn't know what to think, much less what to say. 

So I ignored him. 

I thought about it all night. Was abortion really an option? I couldn't have a kid! I wasn't ready! I decided it was an option. So I made an appointment at a clinic. 

I went in. 

I sat in the room, by my self. 

I waited. So confused. 

And I got sick. Sitting there freaking out. 

I couldn't do it. I couldn't have an abortion. 

I got up and walked out. 

I went home and started thinking about my options. I looked up adoption. 

I found an agency's number and called them. They wanted to meet me and answer any questions I had. I agreed. 

When I told my mom I was thinking about it, she flipped. She cussed me out and told me what I was doing was wrong. She told me people aren't supposed to give up their kids. 

I was heartbroken. How was I supposed to go through with something I was already so hesitant about, if my own mom would disown me?

But I went to the meeting anyways. 

They picked me up, and took me to lunch. I asked a million questions and they answered every single one. (I had some bizarre questions, I assure you.)

I decided that it was what I was going to do. 

But I wrestled with it, so very often. 

Some days I wanted to just walk away and never look back. Some days I knew it was right. 

I fought myself every single day. 

When I had my first ultrasound, I cried. I went home and stared at her pictures and wondered how I could ever not be with her. 

It wasn't easy. 

Some days the only reason I was alive was because she was inside of me. 

I wanted to end it. I wanted to die. I wanted to never wake up again. 

I struggled with my depression and fought every day to try to push through. 

When I felt her move for the first time, my heart broke. 

Sometimes I wonder if I'm a terrible person because, in my darkest hours, I wish that I had never met joe. That we had never had a kid. And that I hadn't had to go through all of it. 

I went through it by myself. My mom kicked me out. She didn't want to talk to me. My family basically abandoned me. And joe was nowhere to be found. 

I had no one. 

Sure, I had an adoption caseworker. But at the time I didn't know if she actually cared about me, or if she just wanted me to go through with the adoption. I was skeptical about trusting anyone. 

I had major trust issues. 

But I guess the point of this was, to just say I'm not a saint. 

I made decisions that could've altered everything. 

I have thoughts that no one should ever hear. 

And yes sometimes I wish it hadn't happened. 

But I wouldn't change it. I love my daughter. I wouldn't change her at all. She is amazing, and is the light of my life. She makes my heart happy, and makes her parents so happy. She is the greatest thing I have ever done. 




But sometimes in the darkest times, in the darkest part of my mind, I wish things had been different. 

Thursday, February 4, 2016

A Little Love

It's amazing to me of the things that I have survived.

Looking back at everything, my childhood, my teenager years, and even what little of my adulthood that I've lived, it never ceases to amaze me of the fact that I SURVIVED.

Today I started thinking of the difficult times that I've had and was and still am, amazed that I haven't just quit. That even though I've been at my breaking point SO MANY times, I've pushed through and made it to be 23.

I'm 23 years old.

Damn.

I have been told by so many people that I would never make it, I would never be anything. And my favorite, I'd never be good for anything except laying on my back.

I've watched people I've grown up with, go back into the cycle that they swore they'd break.

I have been beaten down and broken so many times.

And you know what? I'm still here. I'm still fighting.

Would you ever guess just from a first glance at me, that I've tried to kill myself more times than I can even remember?

That a little more than a year ago I almost killed myself with pain pills?

I don't think you would.

I can remember the first time I cut myself, almost as if it's currently happening.

It was my birthday. They terminated my mom's rights that morning. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried. I cried until I couldn't breathe. And then I grabbed my shaving razor and took it apart. I wanted it to end. Right there on the bathroom floor. So I cut my leg. And for some crazy fucked up reason, I felt relieved. I felt like I was in control of one thing. And that made me feel better. So every time I felt like I just couldn't handle it anymore, like everything was out of control, I'd cut. A few times on my leg. And then I started on my wrist.

I wanted someone to see it. I wanted them to say something. I was drowning, screaming for help, but there was no hand out of it.

Eventually I learned to cope a little better. But I still sometimes get to that point. A year ago, after I tried to kill myself unsuccessfully, I cut. Three times on my wrist.

And then I met Bryce. And I had to explain to this man, how fucked up I was. This man who had only been on a few dates with me.

I still don't know why he didn't just run.

I would have.

But somehow, I got lucky.

This man has seen the worst sides of me. He has seen me so broken, and depressed. He has seen me after two surgeries. He has seen me angry, hangry, sad, stressed, emotional, irrational, tired, drunk, happy, and drugged up.

And for some crazy, illogical reason he still loves me.

He has held me while I cried, and  watched me vomit until I couldn't breathe. He has driven all over a town somewhere in New Mexico looking for a place that had ice cream, because I was pms-ing and cried just because I wanted ice cream.

I'm not the skinniest girl in the world. And I'm definitely not the prettiest either. I weigh more now, than I did when I was 10 months pregnant. I have stretch marks, a c-section scar, and scars from my life. And you know what?

He calls me beautiful like it's my name.

There has never been a time in our relationship, where He made me feel ugly. He has never made me feel fat. He has never, ever, made me feel like I wasn't enough.

Let me paint a picture for you,
Me, drugged up after having my appendix removed, slurring my words and talking about how I am convinced that the big cut inside my mouth is because the doctor drugged me up and mouth fucked me. And then proceeding to ride a motorized scooter from the parking lot into walmart, to get my prescriptions. Still occasionally saying/slurring some pretty fucked up stuff.

Not a pretty picture, right?

He laughed.

He didn't get embarrassed, or tell me to wait in the car while he went in so he wouldn't be seen with me.

He proudly walked beside me, and laughed at my stupidity.

This man. Oh god, I wish I could describe the feeling I have for this man.

Most men are afraid to get into a relationship with a woman who has a kid. Now imagine getting into one with a woman who placed her kid for adoption.

Uncharted territory.

Not only has this man been so supportive of my decisions, he has met my daughter.

Let me repeat that for you.

THE MAN HAS MET MY DAUGHTER.

He was right there beside me when they came to visit. Do you realize what a feat that is? That not only have I found a man strong enough to handle my crazy ass, but also a man who is supportive of my decisions enough that he has met both sets of my new parents and my daughter.

Fuck, man.

This man can read my mind. And I mean that figuratively, you weirdo.

He knows what I am thinking, and can read me like a book. He knows when I want something, when something's bothering me, when I'm thinking too hard, or when I'm stressed.

Today as I was discussing with him, the way I feel about the things I've survived, we discussed the thought of children. Not really a deep discussion, where we talked about when we want to try or anything like that. Just a brief mention of kids.

And I started thinking.

What would our kids think of us? Would we be the parents that gross out our kids while kissing in the kitchen? Would we be the parents who NEVER miss a game/competition? Would we be the strict parents, or the laid back ones?

While I don't know what the future holds, I can say one thing, if we have kids they will know that their dad is in love with their mom.