Talking and texting just to try and stay on his mind. I miss him, want him, and I dream about his arms around me. His chest and shoulders so wide, my arms wrapped under his, trying to pull us into one. Him and I, my body melts, forcing mine on his like its the last time we’ll meet. Every ounce of excitement in my anticipation is fulfilled. It would only take a moments doubt to let my guard down, to let him in completely because with him there’s no other way.
One night my Aunt Lynn came over. She was of some kind of relation to us through my mom being adopted and someone getting married. She is the same age as my mom and has a daughter one year older then my little sister “S”. Well, she had a drinking problem too, I can remember her getting all messed up and some how her boobs would end up out of her shirt. She convinced my mom to go out to the bar with her and sure enough that night her and my mother brought guys back to the house, for the stereotypical reason people like to meet at bars. I didn’t really care that my mom brought this guy home this one night but when he started showing up every night and taking my mom out to get wasted, I started getting defensive of my dad’s home and life that he built for us. Of course this guy “Clark” was really nice to us in the beginning, whispering sweet nothing’s into my mom’s ear, and convincing us that my dad was a coward for what he did to my mom and how great he was for her.
This guy was a grade a loser, alcoholic, douchebag. He worked as a car salesman, nothing wrong with being a car salesman, but when I heard what he did for a living, it confirmed my suspicion of the constant bullshit he would try to feed my sister’s, myself, and I was convinced he believed his own lies. I just thought it to be insane that this man was so willing to move in on another man’s home, wife, and children. My dad wasn’t going to be gone forever. My dad had set it up so that all the bills would be paid directly out of the account that the money from the apartments would go into. My mom didn’t have to work, she never had to work, she just needed to keep her shit together. But my mom always had to play the victim in life instead of taking responsibility for herself. All she would talk about was how my dad would come home drunk and beat her. There was a time I was so resentful of my mother I would often say to myself “If my wife disappeared for three days with the grocery money and came back strung out with hickey marks on her thighs, I would probably get drunk and lose my mind too.” My mom had lost a good bit of weight after meeting Clark and was always going on about how she could fit into her old jeans. I hated it, I would be in the kitchen doing the dishes and she would say to me “God Hope, suck your gut in!”. I felt horrible. I know they were both doing coke. They were working for a friend of Clark’s, as bounty hunters, they thought they were above the law and had authority. I would laugh at them. They would be out all night with a 30 pack of beer and chase down people who jumped bail. I would be home with my sisters most nights alone, so of course I started having little parties with friends and my boyfriend. it wasn’t long before I lost my virginity and started skipping school.
My dad had been a carpenter all his life and was an artisan with his wood work. He had accumulated almost $100,000.00 in tools and equipment, this was all kept in his 4 car garage behind our house. We had a 28 foot(I think) Scarab racing boat and a 40 foot camper. My mom and Clark started selling everything! They pretty much had a yard sale with the shop, anything they could get a couple hundred dollars for, they sold it. They even managed to sell the camper for $14,000.00. We never saw any money, I mean, they were obviously paying the electric/water and putting some food in the house but I didn’t see any kind of improvement in our financial struggle.
My dad managed to have a good friend of his accept Power Of Attorney over everything since my dad couldn’t do much from jail. Once my dad realized what was going on he had us thrown out of the house. I don’t blame him, my mom and this moron were destroying everything my dad had broke his back for in his last 20 years. My dad wasn’t perfect but he took care of his family and did more than provide just a home.
Thank you for reading, the next part is about where we end up once kicked out of our home.
Again, at the time I was 14 years old. I was in the 8th grade because I had to repeat 6th grade. I had two best friends, Ashley and Megan. I had a boyfriend named Jonathan and was focused on whether I wanted to lose my virginity or not. So, once the shock of my dad going away settled down, I was mainly focused on my own teenage life. I acted out a lot at school, if my boyfriend was not at school that day, I wouldn’t go or would find a reason to go home. I was always being written up for detention, it was usually for talking back, writing, passing notes, or showing up late. I didn’t care about anything but myself, not my future, not my reputation, just how and what kind of attention I could get from my boyfriend and friends.
I remember things started disappearing after that first night the drug dealers were in the house. My dad had this amazing hunting bow that I was so proud that I could pull back and shoot. That disappeared along with random appliances like the vacuum. My mom had gotten a roommate and she looked like she had a drinking and drug problem. My sisters and I started sleeping in the same room just so I knew none of the strange people were going to try and sneak into their room at night and do God knows what. Every night, no lie, the woman my mom had living with us as a roommate, in my old room, would bring home a different guy, both of them would be drunk. My sisters, who were 8 and 9 years old and I would be laying in bed, trying to get to sleep for school the next day and we would hear this woman in the very next room having the loudest, most obnoxious sex ever. Me being the rebel with every cause, would blast the music in our room, beat on the wall, or I would be so pissed that my little sisters are laying there having to listen to this shit, I would beat on her door, and when she opened it I would tell her how disgusting and ignorant she was for bringing all these different men into my home where my little sisters and I, with no positive guidance, are just trying to make it until their father comes home, and make it through this with the least amount of damage possible. I know my mom was screwing the dealers for drugs but at least at the time I didn’t know it. She didn’t make it as obvious as the roommate did, my mom had couth, and knew what she was doing was wrong and we shouldn’t be aware of it. My mom had locked herself and whoever else she was doing the drugs with in her room and I just didn’t even know she was home half the time. Knowing everything I know now, I can make sense of these situations I didn’t understand then.
I will continue with my story, one part at a time, so hang in there. Next we’ll get to the worst guy my mom ever could have possibly met and how he ruined our lives, at an even more alarming rate than it already was. Thanks for following my story.
My son’s father “K”, who I have been with for the past four years, is very debative and thinks he knows something about everything. I have a more “Go with the Flow” personaility. I am layed back and enjoy allowing others to speak while I listen. I do not enjoy argueing a point, if you can’t see it my way then, that’s just your perception. I understand that everyone thinks and feels differently and that is the most natural. Whenever “K” and I have a disagreement or different opinions, I just let him win because I use my energy on ideas, not so much for convincing others to understand them.
My friend “T”, who has recently come back into my life, is also very quick witted, smart, and speaks her mind. She’s intelligent, she knows what she is talking about, and has enough life experience to teach you a thing or two. So, she came over yesterday to hangout with me and “K” was home. He came in to sit and bullshit with us. It wasn’t long before those two were in one of those conversations, where they both felt strongly about their own point of view. I have never seen anyone put him in his place like she did. She called him out on his bullshit, it was insane to witness. For the past four years, I have felt like “he is always right and I am always wrong”. Thanks “T”, that shit was driving me crazy.
I would say the one experience that completely changed my life was in October of 2001. It was actually the day before my 14th birthday. I came home from school, got off of the bus just like any other day, grabbed the mail, headed around back and up the steps. We lived on the 3rd floor of an apartment house my father had built for us, as a home, and an investment. I didn’t notice anything different because my dad was usually still at work when I get home but, when I walked through the front door to see my mom, I was shocked to find her intoxicated and obviously celebrating. I was speechless but, managed to ask “What’s going on?” My mom smiled a big obnoxious smirk and gladly said to me “Your father had court this morning and won’t be back anytime soon.” I felt so sick to my stomach, part of me was afraid of what was going to happen to my two younger sisters and I if my dad is in prison and my mother keeps getting trashed like this. Another part of me was relieved because we wouldn’t have to live in fear of him coming home drunk, to physically and verbally abuse my mom. I guess it was just a shift of fear, I knew in my heart that the fear of my dad hurting us was the only reason my mom had mostly stayed sober over the years, Besides the occasional escapade, where she left for the grocery store with three hundred dollars and did not come back for 3 days. Those were the scariest of times because I would have to babysit my drunk dad and try to explain that mom was not there, as he is yelling and cursing for her, with my scared little sisters (ages 7-8) panicking, pleading and begging me to stay in the bedroom with them and just hide from him. I automatically jumped into mommy mode with my sister’s. My mom was always drinking or doing drugs. It wasn’t a week later, my mom let my two little sisters stay with a friend but I wanted to stay home and keep an eye on my mom, I was worried about what would happen. She made me stay in my room all night with my cousin. All I could understand at the time was that there were a few too many street like people hanging out in the kitchen by the stove. My cousin, who was more familiar with that kind of people said “They’re dealers.” I still didn’t understand the severity of the situation. It wasn’t long before I became more accustomed to those situations, unfortunately. To Be Continued…
I always procrastinate when it comes to writing. Sometimes I get this wild hair up my ass and feel so exhilarated and inspired to write. The more I procrastinate the more intense my doubts become, eventually overwhelming me to defeat. I want to work on this. I want to overcome my fear of not being a good enough writer. I have done mostly only journaling since I was 13. Now I know that some people would say “That’s not writing” but I want to work past that and move forward with my writing. I don’t know where to start.