Growing up I always had insecurities surrounding love. From the moment I was created I was told how no on truly wanted me. My mother battling her own demons at the time and my father addicted to drugs were incapable of being able to fully devote all love to me. When I was created my mother had found out that she had cancer. From what I’ve been told Melanoma is the only form of cancer that goes from mother to child and my mother prior to conceiving me spent 30 mins in a tanning bed for her first time and developed a 4-5 on her bottom. I don’t have memories of that time clearly with being an infant so I go off of the things I’ve been told through the years. My papa used to tell me he believes deep down my mother wanted to love me but guarded herself due to the fact that I wasn’t supposed to survive the cancer. My mother tells me she was the only one who loved me. The story I’ve been told and brow beat for years with is my mother father and great grandmother were the only ones who came to see me when I was born. My family, mostly Caucasian, didn’t want to accept a multiracial baby into the family. They had tried to convince her to have an abortion. That’s where my mother says her love for me came in. After a few days my family came around and I believe they grew to love me. But imagine the difficulty believing that you could ever be truly loved and accepted by someone hearing this story over and over again at a young age.
I remember falling into a dark and lonely place very often while growing up. I could be in the middle of doing something with my grandparents and randomly ask them, “do you love me?” They would always reply with a yes and list all the reasons of why.
That insecurity has followed me and has carried over into my relationships. I feel unworthy, not good enough, and unloved a majority of the time. No amount of therapy has been able to change that for me. I am very big on actions. Your voice can express to me a million times the love you share for me but what you do is what matters.
I had a partner who would tell me in this tone that he used only when expressing love that they loved me, but in the same breathe do things that weren’t love in my eyes. They would allow family members to degrade me, hit me, disrespect me and try to convince me that it was love. It takes my brain time to wrap itself around the idea that love isn’t a cookie cutter definition. It looks different to everyone. In his eyes maybe abuse was love. I could understand that. In another previous relationship I had paired love with abuse. He would hurt me and return with apologizes and flowers with cards that said I love you. Every hit combined with “I love you, why do you make me do this to you.” I had been convinced for 4 years that love was violence and fights. At the time it made sense to me. My father abused my mother, my mother abused me, my family degraded one another and they all claimed love.
The other night I was talking to a friend who referred to love in almost the same way. I think we learn love and it’s meaning very young. We see the people around us show love in their own ways and we are programmed that it’s how you demonstrate love. I know what love should resemble based on Disney and Romance movies, but that isn’t real life. So how do you truly know how to love if you’ve only seen it in forms of violence and half ass apologizes? How do you rewire years of trauma like that?
I look more and more to my grandparents. The way they interacted with one another is the type of love I yearn for. My Papa never forgot an anniversary or passed up an opportunity to make my Nana feel special. They had their arguments and tough times but when they looked at one another you could feel the electricity they shared. I try to rewire my brain to accept only love in a form as pure as that. The type of love you don’t have to water down. Love isn’t just in partners but love is in friendships as well. My friend tells me love is being your unapologetic self. It’s being able to be open and talk about the hard issues with one another. I look at her and wish to be as confident and secure.
I’m learning there’s no time constraint to heal that past trauma surrounding love. However; you shouldn’t demonstrate the false love you’ve been programmed to show on others and refer to it as such.
The taste of last nights antics still lingering on my tongue when I woke this morning. The memories and darkness come creeping in. My soul longing for my next drag and drink. Anything to keep the sadness at bay. Overwhelmed and overloaded. Filling my life with anything to distract me from the fact that my heart is in a dismay.
Weekdays full of work, school, working out. Any down time results in clouds and rain. Get up and go for round 2. Keep on keeping on meaning keep busy so you don’t lose sanity.
To speak my pain into words would mean that it was real and it happened. I won’t allow it. I can’t let this break me. Not again, I tell myself. There’s a dark cloud hanging over my heart.
When the tears begin to fall I know it’s time for another diversion. Anything to create some confusion within myself to make me forget and be filled with something to hide me from my own pain. Illusion after illusion. I jut really miss you.
My mother has decided I have a drinking problem. I’ve decided I have a remedy for an excessive amount of bullshit and pain being dumped on me at any given moment. Enduring pain that would bring grown men to their knees. 3 pregnancies lost in less than two years. A family in disarray. And a love for a father who’s trapped in OZ.
The same thing that can save me is the one thing I’m afraid will kill me. Wants, needs, and desperation. Refusing to open up the slightest afraid that no one will understand. “Cheer up” “You okay?” Stifled with a witty remark.
Attempting to save myself from myself. This was easy the first time around. A false and inaccurate use of the word, but easier compared to now. With every day I got a little bit stronger. I relish for that feeling again. Jealous of the person I was before. Proud for mustering up to courage to push on.
“How do people help you through it when you shut them out?” How hard is it to make yourself vulnerable just to be unheard and misunderstood. Mistakes you can’t allow yourself to make. So you long for the next interference in your heartache.
The weekends creep in and you pray someone calls to fill the next two days with amusement and engross your time until the busy week approaches once again. The two days others long for are the days you despise the most.
Monday comes and your hands are idle no longer.
As I read the text message I received from my mother telling me that my father was in jail I had a plethora of emotions take place inside of me.
The last time I saw him he was dressed in a soiled grey sweat suit with rips along the seams. He was homeless and on drugs. My body felt numb as I fought back the tears. Seeing your father like that is painful. I pulled over and tried to talk to him. As he struggled to get to his feet I noticed the dried blood on his pants. He whimpered solemnly that he had been hit by a car the day before. I panicked and called my mother. I needed someone’s help. I couldn’t handle this on my own. When she arrived he asked if we could get him some food and take him to the behavioral health center. My father felt like he had lost his mind. The car ride to the hospital felt like old times again. He was his happy joking self. We we’re a family for the short ten mins. It was nice. As we entered the glass automatic doors it was as if a switch turned on the rage and confusion inside him. I retrieved the paperwork and began answering the questions on behalf of my father. The answer he gave for the last question will forever be engraved in my mind….. What brings you in today? “Rissy you know Dorothy and how she’s trapped in OZ? I feel like I’m trapped and I just want to go home. ” said my father. I began to cry. For 5 grueling hours I sat in the room with my father as he came in and out of sanity. I cringed with every hurtful thing he screamed. Finally they sedated him and we we’re asked to leave. That was the last time I saw my father. He was released after his 72 hour hold and I hadn’t seen him since.
With this call I felt at ease knowing he was safe and also out of the cold, but at the same time I felt discouraged. I realized in that moment that I can’t save him. This is his battle, not mine. This will be his fourth time being arrested for drug charges. I have a feeling he is going away for a long time. It puts a thousands bullets in my heart. I am on this amazing spiritual quest and I feel like every other week there is a new test. Im feeling like once i get over one rock another is thrown at me. Knowing that you can’t change someone is the hardest pain to bare. I can’t save him if he won’t accept my help. I feel like he is trapped in a rapid sea of waves and sharks and I’m right next to him begging him to grab ahold of the rope to the rescue boat.
On this journey Ive encountered a lot of opsticles and I’m scratching and fighting to survive them all. I didn’t know how tough I was until I looked at the amount of poop that is thrown my way and how i can still manage to wake up every morning with a smile. I am a divine amazing woman, with a heart as pure as gold. I understand that I cant change people, but I can pray. I can put positive vibes out into the world and hopefully they will reach the depths of my fathers soul that Im needing them to reach. Im feeling alone, like I’m slowly losing everyone Ive ever loved, but I cant let it weaken me. I can’t stop this journey. These blogs every week keep me motivated. They keep me strong.
I will not stop.