So this is how it began. I was 5 and it was just me and mom. After leaving my aunts we moved into an apartment. I remember it being so bright. We sang all the time, on a little navy blue suede 2-seater love seat, “Leaving on a Jet Plane” that was our favorite then, and laughed like 2 kids. We shopped and played. We had a black cat named Sammy whom we adored. I remember being very happy with our little life together and my mom seemed happy too.
Every night my mom put rollers in my long blond hair so I looked my best for school. I had all the fashion a girl could want, toys, and a pet. A roof over my head and a sound place to sleep. I sucked my thumb still and had horrible nightmares and terrors. I would run into my moms room when I got scared, sometimes I could sleep on the floor, other times she would just tell me to go back to my room and go to sleep, or some nights I couldn’t move and would just lay there and scream and cry until my mom came in and tried to sooth me and tell me to go to sleep and don’t be silly. I had to learn to be with the monsters and ghosts and fall back to sleep under the covers. I didn’t want to be silly.
We had a dog when we lived with my dad, her name was Bonnie. She was a Sheppard/Collie mix. Bonnie was an amazing dog. She loved my mom and protected us. True story about Bonnie, when I was 4, she actually walked me to my school bus stop every morning and was there waiting for me when the bus dropped me off from school. My mom or dad never accompanied me to the bus stop. Dad worked and Mom well, I don’t know why. I must have been missing Bonnie so much then, as she was missing us wondering where we went, and as I write this, I’m noticing I’m frowning and my heart aches. Even at 55 years old.
I missed my playroom where I would have tea parties and play with my dolls, and my friends at my house where my dad lived, where I lived.
It was a challenge for my mom. Being a single parent, working full-time, having no help, no money, and dealing with babysitters who said I was a handful. I learned that what I saw and how I was treated was how I dealt with matters or people that hurt me or I didn’t agree or understand how to react. I can remember my mom having a very bad temper, a fast hand, and being very angry, but also happy and fun too. I was blamed for things I know today, had nothing to do with me at the time, I was an outlet for her frustration and resentment for the life she had and has had. You see, my mom was one of many brothers and sisters. They had no food, barely any clothes, a house that was so small there were 5 in one bedroom, boys and girls. She was molested by her brothers and abused by her own mother, Her father, an alcoholic, was at War and they were all left to fend for themselves. My mom doesn’t speak of her childhood very much. She’s learned to live with it, to bury it deep in her mind. Alcohol was a big part of her upbringing. The Friday night card games with her brothers and father when he was home, they all turned into nasty nights of fists flying, yelling, and the house getting torn up, or her brothers tearing up the streets drinking and driving.
We moved 3 more times before we moved into a townhouse but this time we moved in with her boyfriend and his daughter. I had my own room and we had a pinball machine in the basement. It was bigger than any of the apartments we had lived in.
My stepfather owned all the properties we lived in over the short years. When we moved to the townhouse I was sick a lot and couldn’t quite make it to the bathroom when I had to and would be sick all over the carpet. My mom would yell and curse asking why I just couldn’t be good, why I always have to cause problems. I was so apologetic, so sorry for making her work and waking her up. I tried so hard to make it to the bathroom. I was sick a lot then, because my stepfather cooked with spices and it didn’t agree with me. I also believe it was because I was so unhappy.
I was 8 the day I had had enough and wanted to leave and run far away. I was getting ready for school, but the night before my mom said, “Don’t you dare make a sound in the morning!” Of course, when I pulled out my drawer to retrieve my socks, the drawer came right off the rails and BOOM, hit the floor. Oh my gosh, I thought. My mom came running into my room, grabbed a hanger and started hitting me, telling me how bad I am and I couldn’t keep quiet. I yelled, screamed, cried, I hate you, and said I wanted to live with my dad. I called him that morning and he was there at the end of school to take me. I don’t recall any of those events when he picked me up. I remember my father and my stepfather yelling at each other and the next thing I remember, I was at a hockey game with my father. I was happy and excited to be with him.
I will always remember that night, it was and still is, so special to me.
Being Me Sober 