Tuesday, June 2, 2009


"what a quandary," exclaims Mrs. Peggy Ingram. and bless my stars, was she right. i have never been in this strange and foreign predicament that i am currently in. my house is totally clean. i have NOTHING left to clean. this has NEVER happened to me before; it feels too damn weird. i feel it is as if i am shamefully betraying my heritage, the very fabric of my upbringing. if my mama knew, she'd surely shit herself. okay well maybe not, but she'd damn sure make some type of snide comment.

growing up in a house with one angry thirteen year old, one innocent four year old, and brand new one month old twin boys meant a very chaotic house. there were always clothes to be folded, put away, bottles to be made, messes to clean, and food to be cooked. looking back now as an adult and being finally freed of my monster in the dark (aka the Evil Faux Czar), i can see the things that i should have done to make things better for my mom and for the greater good of the household. however, aside from the normal hormonal imbalances occurring at the time in my body and suffering the abuse from my evil monster in the dark, i couldn't tell my ass from my head. left or right, up or down... it was all the same to me. there was so much that i was unable to comprehend back then. and to tell you the truth, there's still some that i don't get to this day. i've accepted it but it doesn't mean i have forgiven it, or that any of it was okay. it happened. i can't change the past. so i move on and learn from his mistakes. if anything, i can say quite adamantly that the cycle stops here.

i still am waging an inner civil war from within myself on whether or not i am worthy enough of certain things. that is perhaps the biggest thing that i have trouble choking down. i am trying to take responsibility for my foolish and down right stupid behavior in my past and the repercussions that followed. but this, however, this issue stems directly from him. his actions continue to haunt me until this day. i cannot help but to wonder until when the day will come to wen i am even free of his ghost, of his memory, of his chains of abuse. the first time i ever stood up to him still mystifies me completely. long story short: my Nana had a brain tumor for which she had surgery to remove. it so happened that the surgery landed on 'his weekend.' (he did the part time custodial thing. at least on court papers that is.) so i called him to let him know that i couldn't come because of my Nana. to no surprise, he flew off in a rage. he screamed at me through the phone so loud that my mom heard him from across the room that i was in. his cursed filled tirade threw sharp daggers at me like, "what has she ever done for you? she's not even related to you and you want to be there for her when its my god damned weekend?!" yeah, it was so not cool. i was so taken back by his reaction to my not being able to come to his house for the weekend, that i mustered up the courage to tell him that i just would not be coming anymore, period. if i thought the Nana screaming diatribe was bad, boy was i ever sorely mistaken. what followed was nothing short of pure hatred. venom. anger. rage. abhorrence. i started crying on the phone because he broke me; i couldn't take it anymore and had to give the phone to my mama. she promptly hung up on his ass. i remember curling up into a ball in her lap sobbing once more for the daddy i didn't have.

what i will never understand is what happened back before i was a teenager and did do the stupid and irresponsible things that i did. how can a man loathe his own child? a child, for pete's sake. an innocent, snaggle toothed, pig tail wearing child who loved playing on the slip 'n slide during the hot summers. how does a man do that? i doubt i will ever discover that answer. i love my damn dogs more than that sonofabitch ever loved me. how sad is that, i ask you. i can only hope that he loved his other daughter more than me. i know he pretty much thought his son could walk on water. my dad's mother thought the same of him. i would be lying to you if i said that i did not ponder about his other daughter. i often wonder if she has realized what type of mother she had. now that she is a mother herself, i wonder if she gets it. her own mom told her to not come home for christmas because she got along better with my dad when she wasn't there. and then they died. that christmas. i wonder how that makes her feel. but she and i are oil and water, even though it used to not be that way. we were never close exactly but we tolerated each other alright. before they died she did share some things with me on his antics and baffling behavior towards her, to show me it wasn't just me whom he hated. i had/have mixed feelings on that. but what i find puzzling is her current frame of thinking that they were excellent parents. like that because they both died, it excuses their different types of abuse. nothing pardons that, not even their deaths.
Growing Up Cullen Pictures, Images and Photos Growing Up Cullen Pictures, Images and Photos

i do wish her well, because i do still care. i don't want to care but i can't help it. i loved her at one point in time. and now as an adult i have come to find that you just simply cannot erase love or hate. you can break the cycle, but you cannot forget it.
icons Pictures, Images and Photos Moving On Pictures, Images and Photos