Tuesday, August 16, 2011

exploding boxes from MY high school years.

Today....my daughter went to Freshman Orientation.

I have been begging her not to go to high school.  I have cried and pleaded.  I have been looking at this with dread.....much dread.  I was so bad that the week before she graduated from 8th grade....I offered her $500 to not graduate and repeat 8th grade.

Most people laughed...I was serious.

Last night while we had Ian & Emily over for dinner...Sophie came out and asked if she could go to the yogurt shop after school with her friends.  I freaked out!  I was prepared for school...nothing else!

When I got up this morning...I was feeling like I did not want this day to happen...but, she was so cute and so nervous.  I had to be brave.  She has to go to high school  This is life.

I shut down my emotions....and let the morning happen.  I took great photos and wished her well.  Really...I was very proud of her.  This is a big step going from a K-8 school to HIGH SCHOOL!

All was well until I started watching the clock.  I knew school was out.  I was waiting for the text to say "pick me up".

Oh....did you know...I am a control freak???  Yes...yes I am.  I don't want to be but when you were raised in chaos like I was...with my Mom....you would be one too.  When I ended my relationship with my family...it was screamed at me that I am a controlling bitch from Hell.  OK...so now you know.

On with the story.....

I finally texted Sophie to see if it was time.  I had a break in activities at home and an hour downtown is I think enough time.  She texted back saying I could come and pick her up in front of the yo good shop.

Our town is small.  We don't have malls.  We have an antique downtown street with antique stores.  that's it.  As I entered downtown...I could see her several blocks ahead...in front of the shop.  When I got there...she was gone.  You can't really stop and park on the street...so I looked as best as I could while driving and could not see her.  I turn at the end of the block to go back around.  At that point I got a text. 

Thinking it was Sophie...I looked at it.  It was my daughter-in-law.  She had seen Sophie walking around downtown and comments how old she looked.  I wrote back saying I know and tried to text Sophie.  I was shaking and couldn't do anything.  OK...I have bluetooth in my car.  I speak and it comes, on I ask to call Sophie.  I get a message recording.  I start freaking out.  I try again to text...and can't.

Finally....Sophie calls back.  It comes thru my bluetooth and I hear not her but voices.  Well...it does not go well after that.  But, just to say...I did pick up Sophie.  She had a wonderful time....and loves high school.  But now....she has a crazy Mommy to deal with.

Why am I crazy???

OK...I had a bad childhood.  I learned to not be present when things happened.  And when I was....of course I always was...I learned to hide those memories in my mind so well that even I didn't know they were there.  Sometimes I have a slight hum thought....but usually......nothing. 

When I was being molested by my step-father as a child/teen, I had memories of sitting with Barry Manilow and he would sing to me and when it was done.....I would go to sleep and think of Barry  :)  Oh, as a teen...I ADORED BARRY MANILOW!

I still do but now I know what was happening to me when he was singing to me.  I was being raped by my step-father and he was doing horrible things to me.  So, the songs ...altho still loved....are NOT loved the same and sometimes are hard to listen to.

I know...this is going to be long...I am sorry but this is for me....not the reading public.

So, I went to school in Las Vegas, Nevada.  We didn't have schools like we do here in California. Elementary was K-5, then as a white student you were bused into North Las Vegas for 6th grade.  It was dangerous there.  Then 7th grade to 9th grade you were in Junior High.  And high school started in 9th grade. 

In Junior high I had been thru riots, had been raped when I was 10 and was being molested at home.  Mom was not there and when she was...was busy doing?????  I honestly now...don't care what she was doing.  Think something up.  If it was not taking care of her children and other things...yep...that was it.

In 9th grade, I went to high school.  I walked to school.  It was cool.  Then the marriage was on the rocks again and this time...step-father bought Mom a brand new home to stay with him.  But, the home would have to be built to their plans and our home sold.  So, we moved out of the school district.  I wanted to remain at Las Vegas High School.  This meant I would be driven to school in the morning and ride the bus in the afternoon.  Not the school bus...the city bus.

Have you been to Las Vegas?????  Its REALLY cleaned up now!  I went to school downtown.  Blocks from the 4 Queens, blocks from the local Mission for the homeless.  That was where I would wait for 1 1/2 hours to get a bus to get home.

I know today....I look like a gal who is put together, has it all under control....can handle anything.  As a child....I just wanted to be seen.  To have someone be nice to me.  To be loved. 

Isn't it amazing that children that need the most....have this invisible sign that only the freaks & perverts can read. 

My sign read......I am unloved.  If you pay the littlest amount of attention to me you can have anything you want.  At home I am told I am ugly & stupid.  If you can top that...I am yours.

Yep....I was highly prized by many on the cold streets of Las Vegas.  I was predictable.  I was a student who rode the bus.  I was always there and I wanted to feel....something resembling nice.  There were many there at the bus station.  Men...lots of men.

I was pretty.  I looked just like Sophie...but with blond hair and no self-esteem.

I would get talked to.  The groomers knew what to do with me.  They knew what to say to me to get my confidence.  It didn't take much I have to say.  And that my friends...is sad.

So, today...all that I hid in my mind of that time....came out.  All of the things that happened to me while waiting for the bus in downtown Las Vegas, all that happened to me on the bus and all of the things that happened to me after I got off the bus when someone offered to care for me.  I think I was pretty.  To think I was worth their time.

If you are reading this with a superiority about yourself and are planning to look down your nose at me after you read this.  Well...by all means feel free to do what you must.  I was a child.  This is not who I am now.  This is why I am now.  This is why...the family I was born with is no longer my family because no one should ever live thru this and pretend it never happened.  And a Mother of a child that survives this......knows and should never, ever pretend they don't know.  You can not look at your child and NOT know that they are hurting and turn your back.

So.....my box opened with picking up Sophie on the downtown streets of Sonora.  I am driving and the memories that have been hidden for many, many years are opening up.  They are fresh.  They are raw.  They are real.

So, what I see now...is I had lots of groomers that would pay attention to me.  They knew exactly what to do to get what they wanted.  I let them do things to me because with everything I knew...this was love.  And I was love starved.  They would do things in the back alley.  They would do things on the back of the bus.  They would offer to walk me home and do things then.

Hubby asked me earlier if I was coerced.  If I was physically forced to do anything.  No, I was not physically forced...I willingly did what they wanted.  I thought I was being loved.

Usually when it was done.  I felt dirty.  I felt guilty.  I knew something was not right.  I would go home and cry.  I would shower 4 to 5 times a day.  And I cried some more.  And then the next day...there I was.  At the bus station and it was happening again.

No one ever asked me why I cried.  I was just told to shut up and go to my room.  No one ever asked me if I was OK. 

As a Mother now.  I watch Sophie like a hawk.  If anything is wrong...I ask.  We talk about everything.

How can a Mother not care about their child?  How can a Mother see their child crying...constantly.  It's a big joke in my family that I cried for an entire year!  How come no one ever tried to figure out why I was crying.  Wasn't it odd that I showered all of the time???  How can you let a child....ride a bus in downtown Las Vegas????  How can you do that?  When I finally could not do this anymore....as a child...I didn't have many options so I had to come up with a way to get out of it.

This was 1976.  Gas wars everywhere!  I made up this elaborate story that the bus would no longer take me home but I had to ride the bus to my Mom's store on the Strip.  OK...this gave me less time at the bus stop...but the same people were there.  So, It still happened.  I just now could go to my Mom after it was done.

Why, when I walked into the casino and into her store...after having unwanted sex that was usually very rough and tearful...would a Mother never ask what was wrong?  How does that happen?  I was made fun of because I was a crier, a baby.  A wimp.

I told my Hubby this today...because it was now in my mouth and it had to come out.  And I know while I am telling him...that I now look like a teenage whore.  I have probably had sex with ....oh man...I don't want to know. 

And sadly...while this was happening....I don't have Barry Manilow singing to me.  I have emptiness.  There is no love.  There is no caring.  There is a pedophile getting what he wants and knowing that he can have it anytime he wants because I am fucked up and no one cares about me.

I never tell anyone until today.

I have talks with Sophie about the specialness of the first kiss and I never had one.  The specialness of the first time and I have NO CLUE even where I was or who I was with my first time.  And does that count as a first time??  I don't want to count it as a first time.  Why don't I get a first time and a first kiss that is special.

I care about and love Sophie so very much...I can't understand why no one ever cared about me.  Why didn't I matter to anyone.  Why didn't someone see that I was being passed around like a joint.  Why do I get to raise this amazing child...and not have a fucking clue as to what NORMAL IS??????????

I want her to have normal so badly! 

So, now I know that this "Sophie going to high school trauma" is not about Sophie.  It is about me.  I hate that.  I was raised with a Mom that everything in the world revolved around her.  I don't want that for Sophie.  I don't want to fuck her up.

Sophie is my silver lining.  She is the prize I won for survival.  I will live my life thru her.  And I will learn to back off.  And I have already called my therapist and suggested I resume sessions for a while.

With that said.....think what you want to of me.  I am a survivor.  And no matter what happens or comes my way...I face it.  I don't hide. 

I no longer keep secrets

Secrets are never a good thing...for anyone!

Some ask why.  Why do you lay open your life like this.  Aren't you embarrassed?  You want to pursue politics one day...maybe.  Why. 

Why?????  Because I know I have bags and bags of baggage.  I lived a really complicated life with out asking to be there.  NO child ever asks to be where they are.  Altho...I do believe that we get parents that will aid in our learning what we need to while we are here on Earth.


I have no fucking idea in the world what I am learning from my family.  

But, this is why you don't get a learners manual.  You get a life and people around you.  And you make the best of what you are given.  You don't get the answer to life until its over.  Then I have no clue what you get to do with it.

I believe that things happen for a reason.  In the last couple of years I have noticed that things ...like stars have aligned in such a way that boxes of memories have been opened and shown to me. 

They SUCK!

I have not gotten a memory of running thru a field singing, or anything so sweet as a best friend moment. 

Nope...I get memories of abuse, molestation, neglect and horrible parenting on my Moms behalf.

Guess we don't all get a rose garden.  But, I am one tough cookie and and this too will make me strong that I was before.

Tammy

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