You Don’t Know Me

You think you know me, but what you see isn’t real. I won’t show you the inside of me, I know what you will do.

Nothing

There is nothing unique about me, nothing special. I'm  happy with my photography until I see that there is nothing unusual about my pictures. I've always wanted to be special, to be valued. But there is nothing of value in me.  I love to cook and bake and share but, so what?  I hate how ordinary I am.

Self Hate

There are days that I hate myself so much that I don't think I can bear it.
I loathe my existence. 
I know that if others knew the real me, knew the things I have done, there would not be a single person that would speak to me.
I would like to rip myself to pieces and scatter them into the sea.

Bad Dreams

I had another terrible dream last night. Phil had left me and I couldn't find him. When I did finally get to talk to him he was so cold and distant to me. A typical dream of abandonment. I have these every so often and they leave me feeling miserable and lost all day long. He always reassures me and loves and comforts me, but that bad feeling lasts throughout the day. I am terrified of losing him. Losing the only person who has ever loved me the way that he loves me, losing the only person who has ever made me feel safe.

I know that I will never find anyone like him and that if he is ever gone from me, I know I will spend the rest of my life alone.

I cannot believe how God has blessed me with such a best friend and soul mate. I certainly don't deservbe him, but then God is merciful and usually doesn't give us what we deserve.

I am a terrible person who in my lifetime has done some pretty reprehensible things and should probably die beaten, tortured and alone in an alley somewhere. Instead I live with a man who treats me like a queen. Is it any wonder that I have nightmares of losing him?

Repressed Memories

There are things that supposedly happened to me that I just don't remember. Things that my grandma told me happened when I was a child but that I was still old enough that I should remember.

My grandma was my legal guardian, I'm not sure when that happened,by the time I was two, I think. I only know that she was responsible for me since my mother was incapable of taking care of me.

When I was 6, my first year in school, my mother and stepfather kidnapped me and took me on a cross country trip in the 18 wheeler that he drove for a living. Supposedly, I was playing outside of the bar/restaurant where my grandma worked and my mother drove up in a car and asked me to go with her and I went.  They had me for a month. I remember nothing about any of that trip. I do remember my grandma telling me most of my life that it was my fault that it happened because she had told me over and over again not to get in the car with my mother and not to go anywhere with her.

Supposedly, we traveled all over the country.

You think I would remember something about a month long trip in a tractor and trailer!

What happened during that month? Is it something so horrifying that I just blocked it? It's like chasing shadows.

Tractors were smaller than the ones of  today. There was only a small sleeper in the back. I know that much because I did go with them to the store occasionally when I got older and my stepfather even let me change the gears while he was driving.He drove a truck until I was about 17. My point is...where did we all sleep? Where did we eat. Where did I take a bath? They must have bought me clothes to wear, since all I had was what I was wearing. I even had to repeat the first grade because I missed a month of school.

 So where is the memory?

I was reading a book last night about a man who remembered his father picking him up from his crib! And I can't remember a month long trip with a crazy woman and a drunk? I can't remember being away from my safe home and from the grandmother who loved me and took care of me?

Something so innocent looking

 

 See this bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide? How could this bottle hold so many memories for me??

I bet my mama must have bought gallons of hydrogen peroxide over the years. I can remember her pouring it over the gashes that my mother had slashed into her arms. She would make her hold her arms over the sink while she poured the hydrogen peroxide over her self-inflicted wounds. How that stuff bubbles and hisses! Then she would squeeze the flesh together and then wind the bandages tight around her arms. A lot of time Mother would be screaming and crying and trying to pull away. Thinking back the cuts, even though they bled a lot, couldn't have been too deep because how did she get the bleeding to stop without stitches? Mama knew if she took Mother to the hospital they would put her away in the state mental hospital so she always patched her up herself.

When I was two, so I was told, I fell and split my head open on a sharp edge of a step on my mother's mobile home. Mama doused me with hydrogen peroxide and pinched the flesh together and slapped a bandage on me. I still have a scar across the front of my forehead.

One of the most vivid memories though was when I was much older and my stepfather wanted my mother to ride with him to Statesville, NC. She didn't want to go, so instead of just telling him no, she sliced her butt several times with a razor blade, knowing that there was no way she could sit down for the long drive. Again, out came the hydrogen peroxide to cleanse and disinfect.

Just seeing a bottle of hydrogen peroxide on a shelf makes me feel unconfortable, anxious.

The Return

When I was around 10 years old my mother jumped in front of a truck one night. She was injured but not killed. Mama couldn't hide her injuries this time or keep her condition a secret any longer. She was sent to Petersburg, the state mental hospital.She was there for a few months and when she returned she was a completely different person. The doctors had her on high doses of Mellaril, an antipsychotic drug.
While the change was great as far as stopping her cutting, her promiscuity, her drunken rages, she was like a zombie. She would sit all day saying nothing, doing nothing, staring out the window.
She had no personality anymore. It was incredibly sad.
Occasionally though she would stop taking her meds and predictably she would buy herself a bottle of Vodka, her drink of choice, and the madness would ensue.