Brutal Love

I wonder what it’s like to be loved. By a parent. By a friend. By a family member. By a man. Is it really as good as portrayed on TV? Is it really as deep as songs make it seem? What do you need to do to qualify for someone to love you with happiness instead of hate?

When I’ve been told I’m loved by someone, evil follows. All forms of evil, a turned shoulder, a cold embrace, silence, abandonment, bruises, deceit, lies, the list goes on. Those that have done these things, reacted these ways, I thought I loved. I thought I could depend on them. I thought I could trust.

If someone really loved me would I know the difference? Would there be some kind of sign? Would I be able to feel safe? Is it possible that someone can embrace you and for one simple moment take away all your pain and suffering? Would there actually be someone who could mend an aching heart? Or that would want to stay around long enough to get passed my issues? Would there actually be someone that would fight for me instead of fighting me? To actually leave a mark on my heart instead of my face?

I can pretty much guarantee I am going to die alone. That I will carry this undeniable sadness in my heart to the grave. I will continue to get lost in my dreams. There I’m not alone. There I am happy. There the pain doesn’t exist. There no one can hurt me.

It’s not murder if you kill

I’m against abortions. That’s just me. I believe they need to exist. But I do not believe they should be used as birth control. Nor do I believe that it is a harmless act that does not have repercussions. They are not for me. But I will also not judge the people that need them. I have had 3.

I was 14. Young and curious and stupid. I lost my virginity, almost fell off a bridge and got pregnant all in the same day. Being naive, not having an open relationship with my mom, and skipping health class a few times(all the time) I didn’t know I was pregnant. Long story short, I got into a fight, ended up in the principles office, she called my therapist(my mom did not have time as always) to come get me. She ended up giving me a home test. It was positive. Of course I wanted to keep it. I was barely in school, living at home, no source of income, drinking, smoking, I would be a perfect parent!!! My mom saw other wise. 13 weeks pregnant I was forced get an abortion. It was a 2 day process, I was put under, I woke up in the middle. I saw the doctor, the vacuum, the table that held my panties. It is an image and a feeling I will never forget. I was not allowed to talk about it after. When I needed my mom the most, I was shut out. Shortly after she kicked me out and sent me on my way. That is a different story.

Fast forward 20 years. I had just given birth to my daughter, my 4th child. She was about 6 months old. I was with another man other than my kid’s dad, as things were incredibly bad with us. On a drunken night I was forced into sex with my kids dad. About a month later I found out I was pregnant. Knowing it was this other man’s child, him being married and me being in an abusive(deadly) living situation with my kid’s dad, I knew I couldn’t have this baby. How would I get an abortion past my baby daddy? Oh yea, that night. That 5 minutes of trauma was about to save me an ass beating. I told him he got me pregnant, he didn’t want me to have it as he didn’t want me to have our other kids. Easy enough. I had an abortion. There were no problems like the first. But it was horrible. I had once again prevented a life from entering this world because of my stupid decisions. I again didn’t talk about it to anyone. I over dosed on vicadin, vodka and a numerous amount of other pulls to numb the pain. I couldn’t stop crying, I got sent home from work, I wanted to die. The guilt was unexplainable.

Fast forward another 2 years, almost to the date. While switching between birth controls, another baby was conceived. The man I was with I thought was the best thing ever as I was treated 50% better than my baby daddy ever did. However, again, this was not a situation to have a child. I had been fired, he had just started working, there was drugs, drinking, fighting, just a disaster. I had an abortion when I was 16 weeks along. Yes, they still do that when you are that far along. It was a Saturday. I was so upset, but by this time numb. Numb from everything in life. Had the procedure, got dropped off at home….again the pills. They didn’t make it go away. I started a new job that Tuesday. Maybe things were getting better. That day my bleeding got heavier, I was cramping in my abdomen and my back. By lunch I couldn’t walk, and blood clots the size of baseballs were pouring out of me. I made it thru the day, drove myself to his job and went to the ER. There was still particles of the baby in me. They had not finished the job. If I didn’t get the procedure done again, I would bleed to death. If I had waited another 3 hours to go to the hospital, I would’ve been dead. I cried. I cried. My heart broke. I broke. Again I had an ultrasound, alone on the table, wanting there to be a baby, wishing this didn’t have to happen. Dying on the inside of pain, destruction and pure sorrow. I couldn’t explain how empty I was. The tears wouldn’t stop. I didn’t want to do this again. I couldn’t. Just kill me. It would be easier. Before they put me under again, I will never forget how guilty and alone I was. Crying uncontrollably. After it was over, again I was numb. Again with the pills. But this time, not only did I carry the guilt of what I had done, he also put the blame on me for putting him in this situation. How if I wasn’t such a horrible mother, I wouldn’t have had to kill his child. Why wasn’t I more careful? How could I be so irresponsible? I did what I always did. Stuffed my feelings deep down, put this incident to the bottom of my soul, sucked up the guilt and went on with my life. This horrific, mind blowing, unreal, murderous, guilt ridden, sad, pathetic situation was hidden from the world.

I will forever remember these 3 incidents. They have changed my life in ways no one can understand. A year ago I was at my lowest point. All day I have cried. I woke up not realizing what was wrong with me. Until I remembered. The cold table, the ultrasound I told them I didn’t want to see. The loneliness. The guilt. The fact that as a mother to 4 kids, there should be 7. The fact that my life is not better because of my choices. In my situations, to me, it is murder, and I pay everyday for what I did. I made someone else, a life, a child, pay for choices I made. I don’t think there is any amount of forgiveness in the world that can make me feel better for anything I did those 3 times.

A New Past

So my baby daddy and I have not been together for over 2 years. It was an 11 year relationship of pure abuse. That is another story. He recently got out of jail. I helped him get a job, let him stay with me cuz idk why. He got a new girlfriend which doesn’t bother me in the least. He did show her where I live and spend the day with my kids against my wishes. I never asked who she was cuz I didn’t care. In talking to my oldest son a few weeks ago turns out it is a girl he cheated on me with. A girl that once told me they had a child together, a girl that stalked me on the internet, a girl that gave me explicit details on their ” romance”. A girl that once tried to have me jumped in jail. A girl that did set me up to fight. A girl that is a big detail in my PTSD.
Am I wrong to tell him my kids are not allowed around her? Every time we argue about her I am called childish and I need to let things go. How???? He knows what I have, he knows he’s a huge detail in it. How does he continuously hurt me. I left him to be better. I think about this everyday.
In a perfect world I would be able to coparent with him respectfully. I would be ok with my kids being around another woman. As I was raised in a split family. However this is not a perfect world, as I keep being reminded.
I can not say I’ve been the best mom. I have done regrettable things. My kids have not been raised in the best environment. Now the abuse, I know not my fault, but staying and letting them watch, my fault. Bringing them into this world, my fault. Tuning them out cuz I can’t deal with myself, my fault.
Knowing I haven’t been the best mom, how do I let them be around another woman? What if she is better to them than I have been? What if they come home and tell me “why can’t you be more like her?” (My kids say things like that) I already was not good enough for their dad and he ran to her, can I really handle if I’m not good enough for my kids for her? My kids have been the only things that have kept me alive these past 14 years, what happens when something I left in the past takes them away from me?

Honestly Lying

I have come to learn that telling the truth isn’t as grand as it seems. I grew up a pathological liar. I lied about everything just to lie. I would get caught red handed, and lie. I don’t know why. I did not change my way of thinking until I met my first son’s father. He did the same to me. He lied about everything, just to lie. Just like me. But I got pregnant with my son and immediately grew up. I was 23. Fresh out of a 3 year prison sentence and drug addiction and treatment, which is where I met him. As I was getting over my addiction he was entering one, again. He would steal money, my son’s clothes and shoes to sell them for his habit.

Let me back up.

When I got home from jail on March 17th, 2000, he was not on drugs. He was only drinking and smoking, but so was I so who cares. He was working, I wasn’t. Things got bad with his drinking, or our drinking and we got into a fight. I’m talking in the alley, 3am, punch for punch fight. Like men. We broke up, I went home, found out I was pregnant. Needless to say he was less than thrilled. I can’t say I was ready, but I don’t believe in abortion(as a choice for me) so I went through with it. we got back together a few months later. 5 months pregnant we get into a fight at the red line stop at Garfield, he attempts to throw me and my unborn child onto the tracks. We break up. A few weeks later, back together. Here comes my baby shower. An apartment of men(his family) then his baby mama shows up, and all of them are drinking. He is so drunk he can’t see straight. We fight. Couple weeks later in the car, he is drunk at a family party, he is talking shit, I am 8 1/2 months pregnant, I swing at him,push him out the door and am on top of him beating him like I couldn’t stop. His cousin had to drag me off of him. My son is born, which he is also drunk for. We decide to name my son after him. 3 names, first, middle & last. That is what I signed for. However, when I got the birth certificate back there was 5 names. His dad caught the nurse and added them. SMFH.

We move to the West Side in an apartment that his aunt owns. We didn’t have to pay rent, I was working, he wasn’t. This is when the drugs began. And the stealing. And the leaving my son alone in the apartment so he could go get high while I was at work. And the abuse. But now that he was high I could no longer over power him. I took a few beatings, trying to fight back. It didn’t work. I knew I had to get my son out of there. Away from him. With the help of my sister I was able to move in with one of her friends as he needed help with the rent, recently separated. I got away. I did it. After a year. I was finally free. Just me and my baby boy against the world. And we stayed like that for a good year. Just me and him and the struggle. But I loved him. And he was worth every second of pain that his father put me through. He has not seen my son since he was 9 mos old. He’s now almost 14.

Yes I have lied since then, who doesn’t? I can never go back to the way I was. I pick my lies carefully and sparingly. I do not lie about my feelings, nor do I lie to the people that I care about. If I lie to someone, they do not matter to me. To get the same in return is hard. Because I have lied, and been lied to, I do not trust anything that people say. I don’t even trust actions. I don’t know anymore what it would take for me to trust someone, I am not sure that I will ever be able to do it. How can I ever be truly happy if I can’t trust someone even a little bit?

Blurry 20/20 Vision

I have rarely met anyone in my time that is a pure soul. People always have an agenda, a reason, an evil plan. They can not be trusted, they will suck you in with their fake comforts and happiness and then steal it right back leaving you dead inside, picking up pieces that you didn’t know could be broken. I thought this way of the world until I saw my Aunt, in her deepest of darkest hour, be the strongest and most selfless person I have ever met in my life. So full of sorrow, yet strength.

My Aunt, who is married into our family through my favorite uncle, was brought into our family when I was about 13ish?? Her and my uncle were stationed in Spain through the Navy, fell in love and returned back to America with twin, 2 year old boys. Shortly after, another boy was born. As they struggled holding down full time jobs, and raising 3 boys they enlisted my sister as a babysitter for the summer. The twins were 3 now, barely spoke English and my sister didn’t speak Spanish. They were crazy, evil, hilarious, bad to the bone little boys. Tortured their poor little brother, painting him with shoe polish, locking him in rooms…..just pure boy insanity.

I went on about my life, selfishly choosing the wrong path time & time again, leaving my family behind and not watching my cousins grow. By the time that I returned, they were all teenagers, turning into men, dealing with their struggles. I would only see my family on holidays, as I was still wrapped in my own life issues. I had recently come out of a heavy drug addiction only to learn that the twins and 2 of my other cousins were entering into one. I never stopped to talk to any of them, to try to be that nonjudgmental ear, maybe help, maybe….maybe…..maybe.

June 27th, 2013-Mid Afternoon on a hot, sunny, perfect day in Chicago

As me and my sister go back to our chair set up at the subdivision pool after just feeding the kids and reissuing sunscreen so they can go back and swim, as I was about to put my put back on to prevent from being burned, my sister’s phone rang. Her boyfriend saying my mom was trying to call, it was an emergency. She got my mom on the phone. I will never forget the way she said what, the look on her face, the way she held the phone or the words that came from her mouth. My twin cousins were dead. Found by their little brother in their apartment. No way. Not my family. Not the family that just celebrated our grand parents 65th wedding anniversary. Our family of 10 kids, 22 grand kids & 13 great grand kids, not one death, but defeated numerous cancers, WW2, Pneumonia, and the list goes on……As I sat burning in the sun, I could not cry, I could not speak, I could not focus. I don’t remember much of the next couple days, as it was all a blur, a bad dream that I couldn’t wake up from.

July 2nd, 2013- The Wake

It is raining, it’s humid, it’s just shit. As me and my 3 boys pull into the parking lot of the funeral home. I do not “DO” funerals. I am scared of dead bodies. I walk in and see my family, members that I haven’t seen in years. All hugging in sorrow. Videos of my cousins play around on tv’s. There are pictures everywhere. There are 2 coffins in the front of the room. I stay in the back, as I do every funeral I attend. My oldest son, Andy, who is 12 at the time, walks up to the first coffin, it is John’s. He starts crying, my mom tells me to go comfort him, I walk up putting all fears aside, as soon as I get to the foot of the coffin I stop. I break, all control is lost. I am sobbing uncontrollably. My Aunt, their mother comes to console me. Calming me with her words and soft touch. As it came time to leave I couldn’t. How could I leave them alone? They were alone for 3 days in that hot apartment, alone. They’re only 25, I can’t abandon them, they need me. Why didn’t I feel like this when they were alive????

July 3rd, 2013-The Funeral

It is time to say good bye, the coffins need to be taken out of the room. I stand in the back refusing to walk up to my cousins. To tell them good bye. As long as I am in the same room they are still with me. There is only 2 rows of people left. My mom makes me go. I can’t walk, my sister practically carriers me to the front. I am screaming and crying in pain. I say good bye to John first. As I struggle to Gino’s coffin, I stay longer than I should. The guilt that I should be the one that he is saying good bye to is undeniable. Someone pulls me away, some how I get out of the room. Before I can pass out, one of my Uncles catch me, and holds me upright, lets me wet his shirt with tears. This should’ve been my funeral.

The procession to the church is a blur. I do not know how I got there. As the coffins are placed at the front, and my family takes up almost the whole church, the church I grew up in, I look around. I see all these men that I grew up with, strong men, men of the Army & Navy, firefighters, cops, broken, crying, sad. My Uncle in front of me weeps. My Aunt consoles him. I wish I could. She then turns and consoles me. I can’t stop crying. I can’t stop the guilt. That should be me up there.

As we make our way to the burial, we are in a 2 mile procession behind 2 hearses. We pull into the cemetery, it takes forever. The line to say one last good bye is tremendous. I am one of the last ones. I say good bye to John. I get to Gino. I can’t walk away. Again I am forced. I kiss his coffin and tell him good bye. I stand and watch. I watch my Aunt and Uncle tell their sons good bye. I stand beside their brother with my head on his arm. I watch them get lowered into the ground. Watch the layers get poured on one by one. My mom is telling me I have to leave. I can’t. I can not abandon them again. I can not leave them alone. That really should be me.

A few weeks later I am sitting in my room at my sister’s house and she brings me an envelope. It is from my Aunt. I immediately start crying. I can not read this. I can not open it. I finally do. Their picture falls out of it.  The first line of the card, in my Aunt’s writing says, “It was so hard to see you in so much pain” I dropped the card and cried. My Aunt, who lives everyday without hearing her boys voices, doesn’t get to hug them, carried them for 9 months, watched them grow for 25 years was worried about me. I think about that every time that I think about my cousins. 2 years later she is still consoling me, in person, not in person. She has no idea how much her strength can get me through the worst of days. She is absolutely one of the strongest women I have ever came across. And although the guilt is still here everyday, like a knife in my throat, I just aim that one day I will have the peace that she has. She makes me believe that there are good people in this world. My Uncle, my family was lucky enough to be blessed with one.

The Calm Tsunami

My life summed up in three little words.
When things are going ok. When you see a light at the end of the tunnel, when you can make out just a glimmer of hope, when you get comfortable enough to feel ok, and something happens. Something, someone, anything, everything just comes and takes all of that away. So you learn to adapt to the pain, to accept that this is how it will be for the rest of your life. Why bother attempting happiness when you can’t let go of the one thing that keeps you miserable. And why can’t you. It should be easy. After all, this is the one that destroyed you in the first place. Or the final nail in the coffin. The thing that pushed you over the edge. That made you feel so much but so little. The one that took your whole being and made you into the one that you despise in the mirror. And not that you want to be a part of their life, but just need I don’t know acceptance of the fact that they killed your internal being. Maybe for just one day, one hour, one minute, one second make your life a little easier? Instead of blaming you for you being the way you are today. Now to avoid any tsunami you just relocate. Not so easy when you have a real one. Not so easy to just change your number, or block a call, get a restraining order, or have them locked up. Easy to yes walk away and never speak to them again, maybe. Not so easy when your kids love unconditionally and you have to put your happiness to the side. How do you explain to them without really explaining to them?

My PTSD

So this only happened about a week ago(Yes I just sang that as I wrote it)……I knew there was something wrong with me. People for years had been telling me to go see a doctor, to talk to someone, get medicated, something. I mean is it that bad when people hear stories about you that they say “How are you still alive?” My mood swings had been tremendous for the past couple of months. It took every sense of energy I had to get out of bed, shower, brush my teeth, get dressed, go to work, only to come home and take care of 4 kids. I was exhausted. Happy one minute, depressed the next. I knew why, but I had no idea why. I hated everything. Me, my life, my job, all the people around me, my apartment….all except my kids and 2 people that I depend on so much, but I do not even know. Without them though I would’ve never walked into that doctor’s office that Friday afternoon. It’s funny when you walk through life in tune with selfishness when you yourself would give the world to people whose only concern is their world, only to have a person(or 2) come into your life through social media(Instagram of all places), never know their physical, but know them like you have forever, and know that they are not like any other person that you have crossed paths with. Moving forward, when it was becoming difficult to even take care of my children, and losing my temper with them, and them thinking that I didn’t love them, I knew I had to make a change. I knew that I was bipolar, I knew that I was depressed, I knew that I needed help. Anxiety was at an all time high, that day could not have taken any longer. I changed my mind 8,436 times from 6am to 4pm. The appointment was at 5. I was a horrible mess. But talking to my doctor was easy, just basic questions. Nothing too crazy. She asked about the suicide attempts, she asked about the drug use and over dose, the abortions, the death of my cousins, my mom, my sperm doner, my step dad, my kids, and worst of all my baby daddy. Last she asked about the abuse. How do I sum up 30+ years of abuse. How do I generally answer a question that has consumed my whole life? How do I tell a stranger that gets paid for this what has been the basis of my everyday? The fear of when I meet a person that my first thought is, “How much damage will I endure before I walk out of their life”. That thought is with a simple hand shake on a first meeting. My answer “We do not have enough time in this session for me to give you an answer.” Good enough. She looks at me, I am waiting to hear about my bipolar disorder. Straight in my eyes I am told that I have PTSD. I tell her “I have never been to war”. She says that is not only for people in war. So I think, wtf have I been through that would equal the trauma that a vet has gone through. Then it all becomes clear. I have been though war. But a different kind. So she starts to run down medication options, I walk out of that office with 3 prescriptions. 5 pills a day. How bad had I let my life become that I now need 5 pills a day just to get through it? How much control have I lost? How damaged am I really?? So these are still my daily thoughts as I get used to these pills and their effects. As I still struggle with selfish people daily, although I have basically cut everyone off. I keep the 2 around that I now need, that I can’t make it through one day without, that know more about me than anyone in the world, that I am for some reason not scared of them, I have never been dependent on anyone prior in my life like I am with them. But this is about me now. My life, for once is about me, all me. No one from my past that is still around can understand that as my life has always been about them. Everyday is still a mental battle for me, but it is not a physical one anymore.

It’s Just Me

So maybe a little bit about me to start…….I am a single mother of 4. 3 boys and my princess. I work full time, take care of my kids full time, and take care of me half of part time. I have had a very happy, miserable, fulfilling, unfulfillng, one sided love, two sided hate, best of worst lives possible. I am new to this writing thing but was inspired by one of the best friends that I have ever had, even though I have never met. (xx to her). I have recently been diagnosed with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) I have however never been to war, physically, never been enlisted in any armed force, I have however lived a traumatic life. So this is my struggle, I hope that in me sharing some of my stories that it can help at least one person and maybe help me along the way in trying to make sense of the mental war that I battle in minute by minute. I have never been able to talk about my experiences but maybe writing them will be easier and keep my anxiety down to a minimum.