I was mostly wasting away as things came to a head in Minnesota. One day my car was towed while I was at work. I scrambled to get the money to get it out. Once I had reclaimed it, it immediately broke down. I was in a new apartment after Scott moved in with his girlfriend, unwilling to ask anyone for help to return to Oklahoma. I only had two friends and I withheld a lot of my frustrations because I didn't want to burden them. My days had been reduced to working, sleeping, and staring at a box of sleeping pills on my nightstand.
The only relationship I had while I was there ended because he couldn't handle my struggles (funny, I dealt with his and mine when the relationship started). I had news for him; I couldn't handle my struggles anymore either. I called my best friend and told him I was so depressed that it was scaring me and that I wanted to come back to Oklahoma.
A funny thing happened, though. One day, when I decided to disclose some of my feelings to a friend, he struck me with words that have stuck with me since. "That's how life is." It was simple, but sometimes the mind can only comprehend something at a certain time when all the cards are in a special order. This was that time. I was in beautiful Minnesota with a fantastic job, but I had let my brother and a few unfortunate incidents blind me from the experience of being out, open, and free.
It was a work day. Without a car, I resorted to using the public transportation (which was actually quite nice). During a wait downtown, a man pulled out a violin and began to play. It was so random and beautiful that I was mesmerized. I could not take my eyes off of him or hear anything else. He played for a little while, then packed up once his bus arrived. It was a movie-magic type of moment that I would have probably missed, had I completely given up.
My best friend had already purchased a ticket and I had already packed, but part of me wanted to stay. For the first time, I was aware of my freedom. 14 years under my mom's oppression and another 10-12 under my own. Freedom was not something I had, mentally and emotionally. I was always tied to an issue or chained to someone.
I had a long way to go before I forgave Scott for being reckless with my life, but I had taken my first step towards true adulthood after passing the age of 30.
18 May 2011
The Grass Is Always Scarier On The Other Side
People are slaves to thier own minds; a story of social anxiety
Everyone envisioned me to be a weak person as a kid. In some ways, they were true. I was a baby when left with strangers. Most people don't give psychology enough credit to realize that baby's are influenced by EVERYTHING. So, I was left with strangers...loving strangers, but I did not recognize them.
I grew up in a small town, made smaller by the fact my adopted mother (a-mom) didn't allow me out of her sight. I rarely went outside, usually just to get to school or whereever my parents were taking me. No sleepovers, no field trips, etc. My parents feared me being kidnapped/killed. I was raised in protection.
So, for 14 or 15 years, too say I was "sheltered" would be a severe understatement. I was the "boy in the social bubble". The experiences I needed to function in the world were just out of reach.
This made me awkward around people, which further alienated me from everyone. When my a-mom died, I only had the "courage" to leave home because I was numb from all the shit that had been laid in my lap.
Still, where ever I called home was my "safe sanctuary" and rarely did I leave it out of fear that I would be killed, harassed, or be rejected.
It seemed that the few times I strayed too far away from home base something terrible happened. One of the last incidents involved my little brother, Scott. This is hard to talk about because he and I have moved pass this ordeal, but the struggles I have had with Scott and Joe in an effort to be brothers is what a lot of this is all about.
If you read my post about the first time I saw Scott, you'll know I cherished him. Shy and scared of people as I was, I would have protected him with my life. So, when Scott called and said that he wasn't doing well and needed help getting his life/mind in order I went to him. There was little discussion.
I quit my job with the city, said goodbye to my friends, and headed north to lands uknown. It was a BORING drive, unless you like different altitudes of empty fields. I was terrified. The comforts of home and my job were in my rearview mirror. Scott being on the other end of my 12 hour drive was the only thing that made going outside my box bearable.
So, I get to Minnesota and immediately start trying to learn the environment (where food was, what jobs were available, and learning Scott's daily life). The first lesson I learned was that Scott would rarely be found at home. He was always working. His few moments of freedom were mostly spent with a new girlfriend. I assumed that in time, he would make time for us to discuss a plan to get his life back on track. Only a few weeks in MN, and I get a phone call from a friend, Ed. My adopted father (a-father) has passed away. I didn't have any money or a job, but Willie (in true fashion, if you've read my entry regarding him) "offered" to buy me a plane ticket.
After several days of preparation, crying, reuniting, and the funeral, I returned to MN.
Here I am in a new place with no friends and Scott my only lifeline. My a-father has died just weeks before Christmas. Between the time I came back and Christmas, I saw Scott once...the day he picked me up from the airport. He offered for me to spend Christmas with him and his girlfriend, but I was still grieving. Keep in mind that I had already lost my a-mom on Christmas morning in high school. Going to a stranger's house to "celebrate" was just a disaster. I wanted Scott to come back to his home Christmas, but I spent it alone. We made plans to go the movies, but he backed out. I was starting to get angry.
I had moved across the country, lost my a-father, and was without a job. Yet, I never saw Scott. And other than offereing money, he really was never there. Scott eventually stopped coming to the apartment altogether, because he was basically living at his new girlfriend's.
Things got so bad that he let the electricity get shut off. That's right. He was living with his girlfiend and I was in the dark. I became furious with him. I wanted to have it out with him, but he blew off every effort I made to meet with him.
One day, he sends me an email to inform me that I need to look for another place because he is was not going to continue paying on it. He was moving in with his girlfriend. I was in disbelief. I moved to help him but he was so pre-occupied with his girlfriend that he couldn't help his brother. I felt abandoned.
I eventually found a new place. However, I became so scared and depressed that I began to contimplate suicide. I worked and laid on my bed. That was all I ever did. Scott called me once or twice but I hated him. He managed to sting 3 or 4 of my mental issues; abandonment, depression, trust.
My point in this story is not bash Scott. I understand him and we have resolved our problems. My point is that Scott confirmed what I believed. If I leave house, something bad will happen.
It was not easy to overcome the curse of social anxiety that was ruining my chance for survival. Next blog, I will explain the things that I think helped me manage the disorder.
Everyone envisioned me to be a weak person as a kid. In some ways, they were true. I was a baby when left with strangers. Most people don't give psychology enough credit to realize that baby's are influenced by EVERYTHING. So, I was left with strangers...loving strangers, but I did not recognize them.
I grew up in a small town, made smaller by the fact my adopted mother (a-mom) didn't allow me out of her sight. I rarely went outside, usually just to get to school or whereever my parents were taking me. No sleepovers, no field trips, etc. My parents feared me being kidnapped/killed. I was raised in protection.
So, for 14 or 15 years, too say I was "sheltered" would be a severe understatement. I was the "boy in the social bubble". The experiences I needed to function in the world were just out of reach.
This made me awkward around people, which further alienated me from everyone. When my a-mom died, I only had the "courage" to leave home because I was numb from all the shit that had been laid in my lap.
Still, where ever I called home was my "safe sanctuary" and rarely did I leave it out of fear that I would be killed, harassed, or be rejected.
It seemed that the few times I strayed too far away from home base something terrible happened. One of the last incidents involved my little brother, Scott. This is hard to talk about because he and I have moved pass this ordeal, but the struggles I have had with Scott and Joe in an effort to be brothers is what a lot of this is all about.
If you read my post about the first time I saw Scott, you'll know I cherished him. Shy and scared of people as I was, I would have protected him with my life. So, when Scott called and said that he wasn't doing well and needed help getting his life/mind in order I went to him. There was little discussion.
I quit my job with the city, said goodbye to my friends, and headed north to lands uknown. It was a BORING drive, unless you like different altitudes of empty fields. I was terrified. The comforts of home and my job were in my rearview mirror. Scott being on the other end of my 12 hour drive was the only thing that made going outside my box bearable.
So, I get to Minnesota and immediately start trying to learn the environment (where food was, what jobs were available, and learning Scott's daily life). The first lesson I learned was that Scott would rarely be found at home. He was always working. His few moments of freedom were mostly spent with a new girlfriend. I assumed that in time, he would make time for us to discuss a plan to get his life back on track. Only a few weeks in MN, and I get a phone call from a friend, Ed. My adopted father (a-father) has passed away. I didn't have any money or a job, but Willie (in true fashion, if you've read my entry regarding him) "offered" to buy me a plane ticket.
After several days of preparation, crying, reuniting, and the funeral, I returned to MN.
Here I am in a new place with no friends and Scott my only lifeline. My a-father has died just weeks before Christmas. Between the time I came back and Christmas, I saw Scott once...the day he picked me up from the airport. He offered for me to spend Christmas with him and his girlfriend, but I was still grieving. Keep in mind that I had already lost my a-mom on Christmas morning in high school. Going to a stranger's house to "celebrate" was just a disaster. I wanted Scott to come back to his home Christmas, but I spent it alone. We made plans to go the movies, but he backed out. I was starting to get angry.
I had moved across the country, lost my a-father, and was without a job. Yet, I never saw Scott. And other than offereing money, he really was never there. Scott eventually stopped coming to the apartment altogether, because he was basically living at his new girlfriend's.
Things got so bad that he let the electricity get shut off. That's right. He was living with his girlfiend and I was in the dark. I became furious with him. I wanted to have it out with him, but he blew off every effort I made to meet with him.
One day, he sends me an email to inform me that I need to look for another place because he is was not going to continue paying on it. He was moving in with his girlfriend. I was in disbelief. I moved to help him but he was so pre-occupied with his girlfriend that he couldn't help his brother. I felt abandoned.
I eventually found a new place. However, I became so scared and depressed that I began to contimplate suicide. I worked and laid on my bed. That was all I ever did. Scott called me once or twice but I hated him. He managed to sting 3 or 4 of my mental issues; abandonment, depression, trust.
My point in this story is not bash Scott. I understand him and we have resolved our problems. My point is that Scott confirmed what I believed. If I leave house, something bad will happen.
It was not easy to overcome the curse of social anxiety that was ruining my chance for survival. Next blog, I will explain the things that I think helped me manage the disorder.
Found out who I was
So when I was growing up I always thought Bj was my mother. No one ever talked bout our mom to me that I could ever remember. When I first hear of Judy (MOM) was in 1988 when they caught the guy who killed her. I remember I was ease dropping on one of her phone conversations and heard she was so upset about something. Scared I would be beaten over this I stayed away. I remember she went to court a for awhile and she brought a paper clippings home that I stole and went to my room and read it. I did not understand really what I was reading except a lady was murdered and she had 3 kids. The paper said he was on the run for 9 years before they finally found him on a routine traffic stop. I let it go kinda never talked about it that I could remember. I know that there was this trunk that was in my room that had a lock on it. Of course we was always forbidden to open anything that was not mine or what not.
It wasn't till Chris Sneed was brought into the picture that I really found out about my mom and this dorky ass kid named Chris. Little did I know he was our brother for so many years the only brother I knew of was Joe. Wow did the stories start coming out then. It was like this big soap opera. I mean could you imagine growing up knowing one life and then figuring out it was a lie. Being a kid I never put 2 and 2 together about being part black. I was always called the "N" word but never really thought about it. What a shame, I grew up listening to Dolly Parton, George Strait and any other country and western singer you could think of. Hell was even listening to heavy metal like Metallica, ACDC, Black Sabbath. Wasn't till Joe really started hanging out with me did I start listening to R&B and rap. HMMM I think I was like 13 or 14. Living a lie for 13 or 14 years really can hurt the soul. The best way for me to handle all this was to make this new closet I had and stuff all this shit in it. Things can not bother you if its out of sight and out of mind. Really I wonder if all this shit was a dream and it actually happen. I mean come one lets fly through this list and see how much shit I personally have been through.
1. Beaten
2. Locked in my room by deadbolt
3. Forced feed
4. Mentally Brain washed
5. Stand in the corner from 8 am till 10 pm for the summer break
6. Left at stores and had to walk home. I'm not talking about older Scottie. 7-10
7. Locked out of the house for a day and night. Slept outside age 6
8. No friends
9. embarrassed in public
10. being forced to sleep in the dark even though I was terrified of the dark.
I remember this one time after finding out this whole ordeal about mom and this guy. I heard he was going to kill me also. I was so scared that I had a dream of being out in these apartments. I remember playing in the parking lot with some kids. Cars I could see driving by in the distance. I remember this car slammed on its brakes and a black man jumped out and screamed my name. He pulled out this gun and started shooting at me. He hit me in the leg, I cried and crawled to this big rock and laid behind it. He just kept shooting I could hear him getting closer and closer with every shot. When he walked up he pointed the gun at me and cocked the trigger back and said goodnight. I woke up and cried just laied there and cried myself back to sleep. That dream has haunted me everyday of my life. Fuck it still scares me.
It wasn't till Chris Sneed was brought into the picture that I really found out about my mom and this dorky ass kid named Chris. Little did I know he was our brother for so many years the only brother I knew of was Joe. Wow did the stories start coming out then. It was like this big soap opera. I mean could you imagine growing up knowing one life and then figuring out it was a lie. Being a kid I never put 2 and 2 together about being part black. I was always called the "N" word but never really thought about it. What a shame, I grew up listening to Dolly Parton, George Strait and any other country and western singer you could think of. Hell was even listening to heavy metal like Metallica, ACDC, Black Sabbath. Wasn't till Joe really started hanging out with me did I start listening to R&B and rap. HMMM I think I was like 13 or 14. Living a lie for 13 or 14 years really can hurt the soul. The best way for me to handle all this was to make this new closet I had and stuff all this shit in it. Things can not bother you if its out of sight and out of mind. Really I wonder if all this shit was a dream and it actually happen. I mean come one lets fly through this list and see how much shit I personally have been through.
1. Beaten
2. Locked in my room by deadbolt
3. Forced feed
4. Mentally Brain washed
5. Stand in the corner from 8 am till 10 pm for the summer break
6. Left at stores and had to walk home. I'm not talking about older Scottie. 7-10
7. Locked out of the house for a day and night. Slept outside age 6
8. No friends
9. embarrassed in public
10. being forced to sleep in the dark even though I was terrified of the dark.
I remember this one time after finding out this whole ordeal about mom and this guy. I heard he was going to kill me also. I was so scared that I had a dream of being out in these apartments. I remember playing in the parking lot with some kids. Cars I could see driving by in the distance. I remember this car slammed on its brakes and a black man jumped out and screamed my name. He pulled out this gun and started shooting at me. He hit me in the leg, I cried and crawled to this big rock and laid behind it. He just kept shooting I could hear him getting closer and closer with every shot. When he walked up he pointed the gun at me and cocked the trigger back and said goodnight. I woke up and cried just laied there and cried myself back to sleep. That dream has haunted me everyday of my life. Fuck it still scares me.
To My Mom
In my darkest hour, in my deepest despair will you still care, will you be there?
In my trials and my tribulations. Through our doubts and frustrations in my violence, in my turbulence through my fear and my confessions, in my anguish and my pain, through my joy and my sorrow in the promise of another tomorrow. Ill never let you part for you are always in my heart.
I did not write this. When I heard this I wrote this on my fb to my mom. I know she looks down on us and I hope she is proud of what we have accomplished in life and how we have become men.
In my trials and my tribulations. Through our doubts and frustrations in my violence, in my turbulence through my fear and my confessions, in my anguish and my pain, through my joy and my sorrow in the promise of another tomorrow. Ill never let you part for you are always in my heart.
I did not write this. When I heard this I wrote this on my fb to my mom. I know she looks down on us and I hope she is proud of what we have accomplished in life and how we have become men.
Living with a Auntie
Sorry it took so long to write another one but I had to dig kinda deep and remember. You know its kinda hard when you dont want to remember what happen in your past. When I was really young my grandmother and I had to move from dallas to Irving. Being the rebel that I was I did not want to leave my school, I really had no choice but go to John Haley Elementary. I really hated this school, new kids and teachers. I was always picked on when I was little for numerous reasons. The number one reason was I had a severe stuttering problem from alll the abuse I think growing up. So naturally kids made fun of me which really pissed me off. They also made fun of me cause of the clothes I had to wear. My hair style was another issue. WHen I tell you the kids had a field day with me. There was absolutely nothing they could not make fun of me for. If I opened my mouth I could not speak without someone making comments. I have a strong feeling this is the reason I am nervous when speaking in large groups is because I do catch myself going back to my old ways of not speaking correctly. If you pay attention closely I do still stutter. Reasons unknown to me and the numerous doctors I have seen for this problem, but I think I know why is the kicking of the skull and beatings I use to get. Anyways back to the story I did EVERYTHING in my power to create so much drama in my class to my teachers and class mates. So a solution was to move in with this lady who I thought was my Aunt (Ann Delatore) so I could go back to my old school.
You talk about excited man I packed my shit so fast I could not see straight. Man was this a mistake and one of those memories I blocked for a very long time. Living with this lady and her husband was a nightmare not only was I abused by my grandmother I was by here also. When I moved in I was so happy thinking things would be so different. I started school and things just went downhill. I would come home from school and have to eat roach invested food and goto my room which was in the attic. She was a nasty person and a pack rat. Her husband would be so mean to me (John) and treat me like I was trash. I would be ignored and never had any attention. I started this thinking I could make this a story but I have blocked it so long its hard to remember everything she had done to me. I will speak of one last topic of her and end this story.
The day chris came to visit us we all meet at Ann's house for like a reunion. We had fun hanging out with my new brother and Joe. The food was nasty of course Roach something. I know you remember this Chris. Anyways we spent the day over there just chillin. The only thing I remember after that was when she called my grandmother and swore up and down those ni99er kids stole something at her house and she never wanted us back there again. I have never respected her or John since. The ass whoopin I recieved from that was incredible. I watch alot of stand up comedy shows (black) and they always making fun of those ass whoopins we get when nothing comes out after awhile. Around this time I stopped crying and just took the whoopins, let me tell you it just pissed her off more. So I had to start faking like it hurt. I wish our mom was alive and we never had to go through the things we did. I know deep down inside she would have NEVER done this to us or let anyone have done this to us.
Thank You for taking the time to read our blogs
You talk about excited man I packed my shit so fast I could not see straight. Man was this a mistake and one of those memories I blocked for a very long time. Living with this lady and her husband was a nightmare not only was I abused by my grandmother I was by here also. When I moved in I was so happy thinking things would be so different. I started school and things just went downhill. I would come home from school and have to eat roach invested food and goto my room which was in the attic. She was a nasty person and a pack rat. Her husband would be so mean to me (John) and treat me like I was trash. I would be ignored and never had any attention. I started this thinking I could make this a story but I have blocked it so long its hard to remember everything she had done to me. I will speak of one last topic of her and end this story.
The day chris came to visit us we all meet at Ann's house for like a reunion. We had fun hanging out with my new brother and Joe. The food was nasty of course Roach something. I know you remember this Chris. Anyways we spent the day over there just chillin. The only thing I remember after that was when she called my grandmother and swore up and down those ni99er kids stole something at her house and she never wanted us back there again. I have never respected her or John since. The ass whoopin I recieved from that was incredible. I watch alot of stand up comedy shows (black) and they always making fun of those ass whoopins we get when nothing comes out after awhile. Around this time I stopped crying and just took the whoopins, let me tell you it just pissed her off more. So I had to start faking like it hurt. I wish our mom was alive and we never had to go through the things we did. I know deep down inside she would have NEVER done this to us or let anyone have done this to us.
Thank You for taking the time to read our blogs
05 May 2011
Locked up Abroad
I have these memories of being a child and I pray that it never happen to me or any other child in the world. You know people find the things we say sad and what not. I think I have been mentally screwed for life and will never be the same. I know I could never do the same to my kids or anyones elses kids what I have been through. I think the thought of doing it would tramatize me to a melt down. Just sitting here talking about it kills me inside but brings me closer to a realization that hey this shit actually happen to you. It scares the child that is still inside me till this day. I look at myself and see that frighten little boy who wet the bed from terror and studdord so bad he was so scared to talk because people made fun of him. You know its not only my grandmother who tortured me it was everyone who ever made fun of me when I was a child. They never realized that I was fucked up as a child.
You know for me when life gets hard I like to open that little closet and shove shit in there and shut the door. Shit for me that routine worked for years and years. I just would run and hide from all my issues including talking about my past. Most of my stories I would tell I can not due to the fact I just dont remember.
I want to talk about suicide. In all my years of drama and abuse I have never thought about suicide until January of this year. I wanted to do something stupid to myself and was really close to doing something but never did. You know this lifestyle I was raised in did take a toll on me and choices I have made in my life. Life is tough when you really have no one who cares for you when you are down. I dont look for no sympathy from anyone I just am telling you phases in my life so please do not think Im crazy or need some help.
I remember this one time I was locked in my room for the summer. There was a pad locked placed on my door so I would never come out when she stepped out. HAHA I remember only being allowed to eat once a day back then. I remember when I could sneak out I would grab anything I could to try and make bombs or what ever invention I could make.You know right before I was locked up I had to do the most craziest thing and that was take all and I mean ALL my toys out to the trash and throw them in the trash. When I came in the house I was oput under pad and key. Prison I have been to prison at a young age. I was thrown in the hole as they say in prison. I was disturbed young kid with no friends no mom, dad, no brothers no family. WHY? I can never answer that question. Was it cause I am black? Was she mad at my Mom?
You know I was asked one time what is love to you Scott? Love to me is what you would never do to someone who you care about.
You know for me when life gets hard I like to open that little closet and shove shit in there and shut the door. Shit for me that routine worked for years and years. I just would run and hide from all my issues including talking about my past. Most of my stories I would tell I can not due to the fact I just dont remember.
I want to talk about suicide. In all my years of drama and abuse I have never thought about suicide until January of this year. I wanted to do something stupid to myself and was really close to doing something but never did. You know this lifestyle I was raised in did take a toll on me and choices I have made in my life. Life is tough when you really have no one who cares for you when you are down. I dont look for no sympathy from anyone I just am telling you phases in my life so please do not think Im crazy or need some help.
I remember this one time I was locked in my room for the summer. There was a pad locked placed on my door so I would never come out when she stepped out. HAHA I remember only being allowed to eat once a day back then. I remember when I could sneak out I would grab anything I could to try and make bombs or what ever invention I could make.You know right before I was locked up I had to do the most craziest thing and that was take all and I mean ALL my toys out to the trash and throw them in the trash. When I came in the house I was oput under pad and key. Prison I have been to prison at a young age. I was thrown in the hole as they say in prison. I was disturbed young kid with no friends no mom, dad, no brothers no family. WHY? I can never answer that question. Was it cause I am black? Was she mad at my Mom?
You know I was asked one time what is love to you Scott? Love to me is what you would never do to someone who you care about.
This makes no sense to me. I hope it does to you.
So lately I have been thinking about alot of things. Mainly about this blog and the effect it has on you followers and myself included. I want to start off by saying thank you to this special someone in my life that has made me understand what this blog will do for myself and for everyone who reads this. Growing up the way I did and I can only speak for myself on this topic.
Deep down inside I hurt alot. I want something that everyone outside the beaty life has in one form or another. I have been alone my whole life. I have never had that mother figure in my life that would ever just come and comfort me when needed. I feel like I look for that in my relationships with women. I am 32 and it seems like I have been disappointed by every women who have ever crossed my path. No I am not looking for a mother those days are gone and can never be replaced. My worst fears in life is being alone again. Some of this may make sense to you and it may not make sense at all but I know what I mean.
There is times where I feel like I am locked up in a closet with no where to turn to. No family no life and sitting back I really do not have that. Yes I know you say you have your brothers. I am missing something else. What it is I couldnt tell you, my heart says its my Mom. Really though if I never knew or had one to raise me how could it be that. I am confused in my life I know what I want and I feel like its to late for that type of life anymore. I am a lost man who never had a family or a mom to look over and give me what I need which is support.
I am going to publish this to see if this makes sense and maybe someone can tell me what they think.
Deep down inside I hurt alot. I want something that everyone outside the beaty life has in one form or another. I have been alone my whole life. I have never had that mother figure in my life that would ever just come and comfort me when needed. I feel like I look for that in my relationships with women. I am 32 and it seems like I have been disappointed by every women who have ever crossed my path. No I am not looking for a mother those days are gone and can never be replaced. My worst fears in life is being alone again. Some of this may make sense to you and it may not make sense at all but I know what I mean.
There is times where I feel like I am locked up in a closet with no where to turn to. No family no life and sitting back I really do not have that. Yes I know you say you have your brothers. I am missing something else. What it is I couldnt tell you, my heart says its my Mom. Really though if I never knew or had one to raise me how could it be that. I am confused in my life I know what I want and I feel like its to late for that type of life anymore. I am a lost man who never had a family or a mom to look over and give me what I need which is support.
I am going to publish this to see if this makes sense and maybe someone can tell me what they think.
04 May 2011
23 April 2011
Spotting A Beaty Boy
We had a reader express wanting to know who was who in the photos. Here is a description;
1. Joe (JBoogie) - Big guy, darkest skin of all three, more hair than the other two. By nature, he tends to always stand as if posing. (First pic)
2. Scott (Lil Brother) - Big guy, lighter skin, visible freckles (second pic)
3. Christopher (Nanaki) - Skinny version of Scott, even less hair than the other two. (Third pic / bottom)
Hopefully, this clears things up. We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.
1. Joe (JBoogie) - Big guy, darkest skin of all three, more hair than the other two. By nature, he tends to always stand as if posing. (First pic)
2. Scott (Lil Brother) - Big guy, lighter skin, visible freckles (second pic)
3. Christopher (Nanaki) - Skinny version of Scott, even less hair than the other two. (Third pic / bottom)
Hopefully, this clears things up. We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.
Throw Trauma From The Train
We have a bad habit of only focusing on the scars we see, denying that the unseen even exists. It makes them far more dangerous.
I find it a shame when parents think there is something shameful about accepting or asking for advice when it comes to raising children. I mean...it isn't like children come with a manual. There are the basic, common sense rules; feed them, don't break thier bones, send them to school. Believe it or not, even those are lost on some people. I digress. I don't think asking for or accepting input from others makes you a bad parent...I think it makes you a smart parent. Part of it is ego. Part of it is guilt because they fear they ARE doing something wrong. Ever hear someone say "It's my kid and I don't need no one telling me how to raise them?"
Listening to advice, doesn't mean you have to take it!
So, with all that said. Here is what I've learned recently. A few days ago I attended a two-day meeting/training event in Nowhere, Oklahoma. The last day of training we covered trauma. It was a wonderful training and a highlight of the day.
Let me explain something, I am not one of those "throw medicine at it", "pay a psychiatrists a ton of money" fanatics. Everything is an individual problem, which requires an individual solution. This training, however, was a productive look at who we are and how we are shaped as people.
I learned that "Trauma" is defined as any event that is too painful to deal with. It usually results in some sort of change to the thoughts and behaviors of a person.
Beatings as a Form of Punishment...There is a swat on the butt or hand. There is a thrashing with a belt, fly swatter...usually a wild and random swinging of the object hitting whatever it comes in contact with. Finally, there is the sharp slap or punch, leaving a definate bruise.The middle one was/is wildly popular. Let's really look at these.
Lil Brother suffered the most extreme examples of physical abuse (read his recent blog). Most of us realize this is TOO far and unacceptable. My brother getting kicked in his head by our grandmother was the event that was too painful. The change was to his body and mind, causing him to studder. It also affects how he treats his children, how he views and interacts with women...and so on. If you leave bruises on your child, cause bleeding, or break thier bones...seek help. It's easy to understand why this form of trauma is a problem.
I probably had the middle one. I was hit with belts, sticks, a walking cane, my a-mom's ringed hand...For me, as I look back...this was traumatic. There are several elements to think about; my already sensative nature, how long the ass-whippings went on, and the screaming that accompanied it. Think about the following; As an adult, how do you respond when people scream at you? When they get right in your face? Do your emotions escalate? Now imagine you are threatened not to respond or react in any way or the beatings and screamings will go on longer and harder. If screaming affects you in a negative way, why would it be healthy for a kid who has yet to figure out his way in life. My a-mother grew up in a culture that thought this was the only way to get a child to do what they wanted. What she actually accomplished was making me nervous to the point of mutilating my fingers/hands, make me insecure about my decision-making abilities, and feel as if my thoughts and feelings weren't valid or important. I attribute my past inability to share my feelings to her way of forbiding me to talk about my feelings.
Now, screaming at your child and telling them what to do, without feeling the need to explain why is common. I think we have all heard of parents who say "Because I said so" and getting angry because the kid won't just do what they say. Seriously? Are you teaching your kid to think things through for themselves or are you teaching them to follow whatever authority figures say? And we wonder why some kids "never learn" as they become adults. It's because they were never really "tought" how to solve problems. I always take an extra minute to explain because the next time a similar issue comes up, I want them to be able to think it through. Screaming at them for every mistake or for asking questions, only teaches them to try to please you and guess at what will make you "not angry"...It does not teach them to make the right decisions.
Trauma can often lead to a person re-living the moment when they should be responding. For example, my nephews' mother...I am actually respectful of her for holding down a job, going to school, and raising 3 boys pretty much on her own for many years. I couldn't do it. So my next comment is not an insult...just a fact. She makes me nervous. Why? Because she tends to scream alot. When she does, it sends me back to my childhood where my mother screamed night and day, leaving me exhausted and a jittery mess...afraid of everything. Therefore, my mind goes blank sometimes when my sister-in-law is having rounds with the boys.
Now, don't get me wrong. No way you can raise children without raising your voice. I'm not stupid. Like everything, though...there IS a limit. My mom just strictly responded out of frustration, but it traumatized me...not strictly because of what she did, but also because of who I was. An overly sensative kid removed from his birth mother.
Name calling can be traumatizing too. Ask my brothers about being called "niggers". Hell, ask me about being called stupid when I tried so hard to please my a-mom. You keep calling someone a certain name, subconciously it is going to affect them. For instance, there was a young man I was a caretaker for. He had been told by his family (and by the justice system) that he was a sex offender because at the age of like 8 or 10, he got curious about his sister. Instead of just saying "that's wrong, don't do it again" they labled him. For the next 8-10 years that was all he heard..."sex offender". He got to where he would not go around other people's children and did not want to have kids of his own because he had been labled this ugly word over a one-time incident.
Depriving a child of food, affection, clothes...can also cause trauma. Scott had food in the house and was not allowed to eat it. I went through the same thing as a teenager. It altered how we both eat as adults. For me, it became unhealthy eating habits of starving myself, gorging...maybe contributed to my hypoglycemia (though i'm only guessing). Joseph was deprived of affection and protection from his dad. Now, he sometimes has trouble "going there" with his emotions.
In relation to everything we are sharing with you, our readers, our traumatic events were caused by the people that our simple minds percieved to be the ones to protect us and provide us with all our needs. It's like having a killer after you. Going to the police, and having the police try to kill you. It's a mind f*ck of never believing that anyone has really got your back.
Truth is...the black and blue heals. The wounds dry up. Yet, the chemical changes to our brains are a bitch to try to undo as an adult. I'm learning more and more about what my brothers went through and one day all I could say was "It's too much. It was too much." over and over. The adults in our lives expected too much from us.
I can't blame my parents or adult relatives. They did the best they knew how to do. Psychology was even more laughed at when I was little. Things like psychological trauma were just "made up" according to the culture I grew up in. But Scott and Joseph; no, the adults in their lives...thier family and what they did and didn't do...It was beyond awful.
My 10+ years of working with, for, and around children has tought me more than I could have ever dreamt about my childhood and understanding children. The most complex thing though...is learning that the ones that cause trauma are usually traumatizing themselves in the process.
If I were going to wrap this blog up and describe its point; I would say...You're going to get angry with your children. But make sure that your love is always present and comes first, even when you're not happy with them. (I got in the habit of saying things to my nephs, like "I love you, but if you don't stop arguing I'm turning the game off") Spend as much time rewarding good behavior, as you do punishing bad behavior. And make sure you aren't punishing to make yourself feel better, isntead of doing it to teach a lesson. Finally, don't be too proud to ask for help. Sometimes we are too close to a problem to see the solution.
I find it a shame when parents think there is something shameful about accepting or asking for advice when it comes to raising children. I mean...it isn't like children come with a manual. There are the basic, common sense rules; feed them, don't break thier bones, send them to school. Believe it or not, even those are lost on some people. I digress. I don't think asking for or accepting input from others makes you a bad parent...I think it makes you a smart parent. Part of it is ego. Part of it is guilt because they fear they ARE doing something wrong. Ever hear someone say "It's my kid and I don't need no one telling me how to raise them?"
Listening to advice, doesn't mean you have to take it!
So, with all that said. Here is what I've learned recently. A few days ago I attended a two-day meeting/training event in Nowhere, Oklahoma. The last day of training we covered trauma. It was a wonderful training and a highlight of the day.
Let me explain something, I am not one of those "throw medicine at it", "pay a psychiatrists a ton of money" fanatics. Everything is an individual problem, which requires an individual solution. This training, however, was a productive look at who we are and how we are shaped as people.
I learned that "Trauma" is defined as any event that is too painful to deal with. It usually results in some sort of change to the thoughts and behaviors of a person.
Beatings as a Form of Punishment...There is a swat on the butt or hand. There is a thrashing with a belt, fly swatter...usually a wild and random swinging of the object hitting whatever it comes in contact with. Finally, there is the sharp slap or punch, leaving a definate bruise.The middle one was/is wildly popular. Let's really look at these.
Lil Brother suffered the most extreme examples of physical abuse (read his recent blog). Most of us realize this is TOO far and unacceptable. My brother getting kicked in his head by our grandmother was the event that was too painful. The change was to his body and mind, causing him to studder. It also affects how he treats his children, how he views and interacts with women...and so on. If you leave bruises on your child, cause bleeding, or break thier bones...seek help. It's easy to understand why this form of trauma is a problem.
I probably had the middle one. I was hit with belts, sticks, a walking cane, my a-mom's ringed hand...For me, as I look back...this was traumatic. There are several elements to think about; my already sensative nature, how long the ass-whippings went on, and the screaming that accompanied it. Think about the following; As an adult, how do you respond when people scream at you? When they get right in your face? Do your emotions escalate? Now imagine you are threatened not to respond or react in any way or the beatings and screamings will go on longer and harder. If screaming affects you in a negative way, why would it be healthy for a kid who has yet to figure out his way in life. My a-mother grew up in a culture that thought this was the only way to get a child to do what they wanted. What she actually accomplished was making me nervous to the point of mutilating my fingers/hands, make me insecure about my decision-making abilities, and feel as if my thoughts and feelings weren't valid or important. I attribute my past inability to share my feelings to her way of forbiding me to talk about my feelings.
Now, screaming at your child and telling them what to do, without feeling the need to explain why is common. I think we have all heard of parents who say "Because I said so" and getting angry because the kid won't just do what they say. Seriously? Are you teaching your kid to think things through for themselves or are you teaching them to follow whatever authority figures say? And we wonder why some kids "never learn" as they become adults. It's because they were never really "tought" how to solve problems. I always take an extra minute to explain because the next time a similar issue comes up, I want them to be able to think it through. Screaming at them for every mistake or for asking questions, only teaches them to try to please you and guess at what will make you "not angry"...It does not teach them to make the right decisions.
Trauma can often lead to a person re-living the moment when they should be responding. For example, my nephews' mother...I am actually respectful of her for holding down a job, going to school, and raising 3 boys pretty much on her own for many years. I couldn't do it. So my next comment is not an insult...just a fact. She makes me nervous. Why? Because she tends to scream alot. When she does, it sends me back to my childhood where my mother screamed night and day, leaving me exhausted and a jittery mess...afraid of everything. Therefore, my mind goes blank sometimes when my sister-in-law is having rounds with the boys.
Now, don't get me wrong. No way you can raise children without raising your voice. I'm not stupid. Like everything, though...there IS a limit. My mom just strictly responded out of frustration, but it traumatized me...not strictly because of what she did, but also because of who I was. An overly sensative kid removed from his birth mother.
Name calling can be traumatizing too. Ask my brothers about being called "niggers". Hell, ask me about being called stupid when I tried so hard to please my a-mom. You keep calling someone a certain name, subconciously it is going to affect them. For instance, there was a young man I was a caretaker for. He had been told by his family (and by the justice system) that he was a sex offender because at the age of like 8 or 10, he got curious about his sister. Instead of just saying "that's wrong, don't do it again" they labled him. For the next 8-10 years that was all he heard..."sex offender". He got to where he would not go around other people's children and did not want to have kids of his own because he had been labled this ugly word over a one-time incident.
Depriving a child of food, affection, clothes...can also cause trauma. Scott had food in the house and was not allowed to eat it. I went through the same thing as a teenager. It altered how we both eat as adults. For me, it became unhealthy eating habits of starving myself, gorging...maybe contributed to my hypoglycemia (though i'm only guessing). Joseph was deprived of affection and protection from his dad. Now, he sometimes has trouble "going there" with his emotions.
In relation to everything we are sharing with you, our readers, our traumatic events were caused by the people that our simple minds percieved to be the ones to protect us and provide us with all our needs. It's like having a killer after you. Going to the police, and having the police try to kill you. It's a mind f*ck of never believing that anyone has really got your back.
Truth is...the black and blue heals. The wounds dry up. Yet, the chemical changes to our brains are a bitch to try to undo as an adult. I'm learning more and more about what my brothers went through and one day all I could say was "It's too much. It was too much." over and over. The adults in our lives expected too much from us.
I can't blame my parents or adult relatives. They did the best they knew how to do. Psychology was even more laughed at when I was little. Things like psychological trauma were just "made up" according to the culture I grew up in. But Scott and Joseph; no, the adults in their lives...thier family and what they did and didn't do...It was beyond awful.
My 10+ years of working with, for, and around children has tought me more than I could have ever dreamt about my childhood and understanding children. The most complex thing though...is learning that the ones that cause trauma are usually traumatizing themselves in the process.
If I were going to wrap this blog up and describe its point; I would say...You're going to get angry with your children. But make sure that your love is always present and comes first, even when you're not happy with them. (I got in the habit of saying things to my nephs, like "I love you, but if you don't stop arguing I'm turning the game off") Spend as much time rewarding good behavior, as you do punishing bad behavior. And make sure you aren't punishing to make yourself feel better, isntead of doing it to teach a lesson. Finally, don't be too proud to ask for help. Sometimes we are too close to a problem to see the solution.
21 April 2011
Me
I am going to copy Nanaki and do a blog about myself. I believe this will help you understand my likes. What type of person I am.
First thing we will go over is my favs. Lets start off with food, most people do not know this and most have a hard time believing this. I am a vegetarian, there is a reason why I am and no one, not even my brothers know the real reason. Growing up we had one choice when eatting and thats eatting EVERYTHING on your plate. I did not have options of sitting there till your plate was done. I was force fed when I say forced I mean forced. I dont know about you but have you ever had someone shove meat down your throat. For instance Liver most people hate this I was one of these people. You can imagine a young kid not wanting to eat it you would just be like ok well I tried, not the one we call bigmomma. You imagine eatting so much meat you just get so sick. Meat was a nightmare for me it tramatized me to where I would mentally get sick at the taste of it. When being told you have to do this you become a rebel. So I made the choice of just not eatting it anymore.
Second reason and last is that when I was 10 years old I got a bb gun for my birthday. I practiced all the time. I have a good shot even till this day. Anyways I was outside one time shooting cans and what not (Windows, cars) you know typical boys stuff. I saw a bird in the trees and said shit I can hit that with ease. I loaded the gun sat back aimed ever so carefully. I pulled the trigger bam it was a hit. I was so proud of myself. The bird hit the ground so I walked over to check my kill when I did I heard a chirp and the the bird started to flop around. I felt really bad then I heard noises from above and noticed there was a nest. Fuck what did I just do I killed a bird that had a family. I cried threw my gun away and prayed over the bird. I grabbed a shoe box and put the bird inside it and buried the bird and cried some more. I told god please forgive me I would never never kill another animal again for sport or food. Till this day I have never killed or ate another animal. I dont hunt cause hunting is not for me. I dont eat meat cause meat is not for me. My heart is to big.
Favorite food: hmmm Broccoli, asparegus, mexican food.
Favorite TV show: Law and Order, Gangland, Criminal Minds
Favorite Video Game: Splinter Cell
Favorite Moment of all time. I would have to say when I was a child was when Joe and I use to sneak into the pantry and steal jello packets to eat. We use to eat and tell stories or just talk. Even though we got our asses beat for going into the pantry. I remember we use to be like no we was not in the pantry but our fingers and faces was different colors and it was no way we could deny it we tried though.
Favorite Love Movie: City of Angels
Favorite Horror: Friday the 13th any of them
Favorite Action: Faceoff, A man apart
Favorite Female Artist: Alicia Keys
Favorite Male artist: Jamie Foxx
Actors: Denzel Washington, The Rock Tyler Perry
Actress: Angelina Jolie
Hmmm I really cant think of anything else. Hey if yall have questions lets hear them? Atleast Im down.
First thing we will go over is my favs. Lets start off with food, most people do not know this and most have a hard time believing this. I am a vegetarian, there is a reason why I am and no one, not even my brothers know the real reason. Growing up we had one choice when eatting and thats eatting EVERYTHING on your plate. I did not have options of sitting there till your plate was done. I was force fed when I say forced I mean forced. I dont know about you but have you ever had someone shove meat down your throat. For instance Liver most people hate this I was one of these people. You can imagine a young kid not wanting to eat it you would just be like ok well I tried, not the one we call bigmomma. You imagine eatting so much meat you just get so sick. Meat was a nightmare for me it tramatized me to where I would mentally get sick at the taste of it. When being told you have to do this you become a rebel. So I made the choice of just not eatting it anymore.
Second reason and last is that when I was 10 years old I got a bb gun for my birthday. I practiced all the time. I have a good shot even till this day. Anyways I was outside one time shooting cans and what not (Windows, cars) you know typical boys stuff. I saw a bird in the trees and said shit I can hit that with ease. I loaded the gun sat back aimed ever so carefully. I pulled the trigger bam it was a hit. I was so proud of myself. The bird hit the ground so I walked over to check my kill when I did I heard a chirp and the the bird started to flop around. I felt really bad then I heard noises from above and noticed there was a nest. Fuck what did I just do I killed a bird that had a family. I cried threw my gun away and prayed over the bird. I grabbed a shoe box and put the bird inside it and buried the bird and cried some more. I told god please forgive me I would never never kill another animal again for sport or food. Till this day I have never killed or ate another animal. I dont hunt cause hunting is not for me. I dont eat meat cause meat is not for me. My heart is to big.
Favorite food: hmmm Broccoli, asparegus, mexican food.
Favorite TV show: Law and Order, Gangland, Criminal Minds
Favorite Video Game: Splinter Cell
Favorite Moment of all time. I would have to say when I was a child was when Joe and I use to sneak into the pantry and steal jello packets to eat. We use to eat and tell stories or just talk. Even though we got our asses beat for going into the pantry. I remember we use to be like no we was not in the pantry but our fingers and faces was different colors and it was no way we could deny it we tried though.
Favorite Love Movie: City of Angels
Favorite Horror: Friday the 13th any of them
Favorite Action: Faceoff, A man apart
Favorite Female Artist: Alicia Keys
Favorite Male artist: Jamie Foxx
Actors: Denzel Washington, The Rock Tyler Perry
Actress: Angelina Jolie
Hmmm I really cant think of anything else. Hey if yall have questions lets hear them? Atleast Im down.
Growing up!!!! Lil Bro Style
Sure we have all had a rough time growing up. The more I think about it the more I think that our lives was unique growing up. Growing up we have dealt with racism, mental fuckings and severe abuse. My end I want to express and tell yall about some experiences I have been through. So sit back relax and listen to some of my experiences.
Severe abuse is a sore subject with me but my story needs to be told someday. One thing I can take growing up was a ass whooping. You know people talk about how bad that ass whoopin was they got and all i can think of is how I was beaten. People say belts, sticks, shoes etc. The only thing I can say is damn you had it easy. One time I had a dog that was made to attack me when I was being to much of a kid. The dogs name was chip, I remember one time I was made to go and grab his dog food. The one thing you never do is grab chips dog food. I said no but you know that shit did not fly. So I went and cried cried as I reached over to brab the dog food. The worst part was not knowing where the fuck the dog was under the bed. I could hear that damn dog growl and you could hear the tone get deeper and deeper the closer I got to the bowl. I touched the bowl and out came a 45 pound dog chopping at the mouth slobber just flowing out his mouth. I tried to move fast enough but he got my ear and took a huge chunk out of my ear. Blood flowing from my ear and the skin falling off. Being only 10 years old that shit was crazy but not out of the ordinary. You wanna hear the fucked up part my grandmother or so called grandmother laughed her ass off because it was funny.
I remember I could never figure out why I studdard so bad when I was a child until I sit back and think damn she use to beat the shit out of my head. This one time we was over this ladies house named Robin suppose to be my auntie ha. Big Momma (grandmother) was looking for some of her movies and fighting with her daughter over what movies was hers and what not. Being the sweet young attractive little boy I was decided I would help and say this was not her movie, WRONG MISTAKE. Big Momma punched me dead in the face so I ran into the room where she had to chase me and get some more licks in. She grabbed me by the hair and beat my head on the wall till Robin pulled her off of me which to me seemed like days. Being older I realized the reason she kept my hair long was to be able to grab my hair and proceed to fuck me up. There was another time when my cousins decided to set me up cause I was like a show for them to watch when big momma beat me the shit out of me they would watch and laugh. Anyways we had some issues with our neighbors upstairs from us. We all decided to turn their lights off, wrong fucking mistake. Neighbors came out said they was calling the police blah blah. Of course I got blamed for that big momma knocked me into next week I fell to the floor she went to town kicked me in the face, back, stomach. Fredricka was at the house and grabbed her told her to stop she helped me up and Bigmomma told me to jump in the shower and goto bed. Man let me tell you these stories aint shit.
Mental abuse I have one story that haunts me, even today this hurts me. I grew up with out a mom or dad. One of my moms bf took the roll of dad for me. This man will always be my daddy in my eyes I have nothing but the upmost respect for this man. He did everything in his power to make me happy. Keep in mind I was brain washed my whole life by racism abuse mental and physical. I dont remember much on this incident but I remember what hurts me. MY dad came over to visit like always, big momma and him got into it over something and he left. She ran in the room saying she would beat me if I didnt run and ask him for money for something and if he said no I had to say what she told me to say. So I did it of course cause I was scared of course, I ran outside he said no I cant. So I told him I hated him and he didnt love me. I never had a chance to apologize for that. So I am sorry dad and I know I havent been by to visit but I will promise.
Growing up I always thought big momma was my mother. Hell I was calling her mom and NO ONE in the family ever corrected me. I found out in 89 that she was just my grandmother and not my mom. I found out my mom was killed by her exbf. Once that happen all kinds of stuff came out in the open. I had another brother WTF my dad was not my dad WTF. The fucked up thing is knowing your mom is dead and you have no father cause no one knows who the fuck he was. Mom had to keep her lifestyle a secret due to all the racism in this so called family. Let me tell you this besides my brothers the only member of this fucked up family I talk to is my auntie Ginger. Thats sad considering there was 7 fucking children big momma had.
The KKK and AB. Now you know this This how fucked up this family is. I felt like I was raised in the slavery days considering thats all Joe and I ever heard growing up. N this N that shit I started using it to describe all of my people. I was raised to believe I was white, cowboy boots and hats. Yes I rocked it and looked good doing it. Thats not the point I never knew anything about my other culture. Only that we was bad and deserved to be beaten on a daily basis. Yes I have never dated any sisters but its not because I am a racist its just that the ones I did would never think twice about some little confused black kid dressed and acting like he is white. Yeah Joe I know you having a field day with this.
I think I am done for now. I hope everyone likes this and enjoys our stories. Thank you for inspiring me to keep going with the blogs, you know who you are....... LIL Brother story
Severe abuse is a sore subject with me but my story needs to be told someday. One thing I can take growing up was a ass whooping. You know people talk about how bad that ass whoopin was they got and all i can think of is how I was beaten. People say belts, sticks, shoes etc. The only thing I can say is damn you had it easy. One time I had a dog that was made to attack me when I was being to much of a kid. The dogs name was chip, I remember one time I was made to go and grab his dog food. The one thing you never do is grab chips dog food. I said no but you know that shit did not fly. So I went and cried cried as I reached over to brab the dog food. The worst part was not knowing where the fuck the dog was under the bed. I could hear that damn dog growl and you could hear the tone get deeper and deeper the closer I got to the bowl. I touched the bowl and out came a 45 pound dog chopping at the mouth slobber just flowing out his mouth. I tried to move fast enough but he got my ear and took a huge chunk out of my ear. Blood flowing from my ear and the skin falling off. Being only 10 years old that shit was crazy but not out of the ordinary. You wanna hear the fucked up part my grandmother or so called grandmother laughed her ass off because it was funny.
I remember I could never figure out why I studdard so bad when I was a child until I sit back and think damn she use to beat the shit out of my head. This one time we was over this ladies house named Robin suppose to be my auntie ha. Big Momma (grandmother) was looking for some of her movies and fighting with her daughter over what movies was hers and what not. Being the sweet young attractive little boy I was decided I would help and say this was not her movie, WRONG MISTAKE. Big Momma punched me dead in the face so I ran into the room where she had to chase me and get some more licks in. She grabbed me by the hair and beat my head on the wall till Robin pulled her off of me which to me seemed like days. Being older I realized the reason she kept my hair long was to be able to grab my hair and proceed to fuck me up. There was another time when my cousins decided to set me up cause I was like a show for them to watch when big momma beat me the shit out of me they would watch and laugh. Anyways we had some issues with our neighbors upstairs from us. We all decided to turn their lights off, wrong fucking mistake. Neighbors came out said they was calling the police blah blah. Of course I got blamed for that big momma knocked me into next week I fell to the floor she went to town kicked me in the face, back, stomach. Fredricka was at the house and grabbed her told her to stop she helped me up and Bigmomma told me to jump in the shower and goto bed. Man let me tell you these stories aint shit.
Mental abuse I have one story that haunts me, even today this hurts me. I grew up with out a mom or dad. One of my moms bf took the roll of dad for me. This man will always be my daddy in my eyes I have nothing but the upmost respect for this man. He did everything in his power to make me happy. Keep in mind I was brain washed my whole life by racism abuse mental and physical. I dont remember much on this incident but I remember what hurts me. MY dad came over to visit like always, big momma and him got into it over something and he left. She ran in the room saying she would beat me if I didnt run and ask him for money for something and if he said no I had to say what she told me to say. So I did it of course cause I was scared of course, I ran outside he said no I cant. So I told him I hated him and he didnt love me. I never had a chance to apologize for that. So I am sorry dad and I know I havent been by to visit but I will promise.
Growing up I always thought big momma was my mother. Hell I was calling her mom and NO ONE in the family ever corrected me. I found out in 89 that she was just my grandmother and not my mom. I found out my mom was killed by her exbf. Once that happen all kinds of stuff came out in the open. I had another brother WTF my dad was not my dad WTF. The fucked up thing is knowing your mom is dead and you have no father cause no one knows who the fuck he was. Mom had to keep her lifestyle a secret due to all the racism in this so called family. Let me tell you this besides my brothers the only member of this fucked up family I talk to is my auntie Ginger. Thats sad considering there was 7 fucking children big momma had.
The KKK and AB. Now you know this This how fucked up this family is. I felt like I was raised in the slavery days considering thats all Joe and I ever heard growing up. N this N that shit I started using it to describe all of my people. I was raised to believe I was white, cowboy boots and hats. Yes I rocked it and looked good doing it. Thats not the point I never knew anything about my other culture. Only that we was bad and deserved to be beaten on a daily basis. Yes I have never dated any sisters but its not because I am a racist its just that the ones I did would never think twice about some little confused black kid dressed and acting like he is white. Yeah Joe I know you having a field day with this.
I think I am done for now. I hope everyone likes this and enjoys our stories. Thank you for inspiring me to keep going with the blogs, you know who you are....... LIL Brother story
17 April 2011
He Ain't Heavy. He's An A@@hole!
You can love without being around. Sometimes it is best.
I have and will continue to tell you experiences, thoughts, and memories of my two brothers. This paints the illusion that I grew up without a brother...well, for the most part, I might as well have. But there was another member of the Sneed household. His name was Willie and for legal purposes, he was my brother.
I have ZERO good memories about Willie. He was quite a bit older than me. He left home while I was rather young and soon joined the navy.
My childhood with him consisted of broken promises and lousy outtings. It became a running joke between my cousins and I about Willie's promises. He promised to take me places on a regular basis. I can probably count on one hand how many times he came through. His absence and his disregard for spending time with me was not the worst thing. It wasn't even his inappropriate sexual encounters with his girlfriend of the month.
You see, I left home quickly. If you've ready any of my other post, you'll know that "running" is an understatement. Still over the last 15 years or so, I have managed to stop in at home 3 or 4 times. Once, I stopped in at my grandmother's house. Willie was there. I was trying to talk about a few things that bothered me. He asked me if I needed any money. Lord knows I did, but at the time I was more concerned about my mental state and my future.
I don't think I answered him. He asked again. I said "sure." He gives me $20-$30, followed by "I really don't have it to give." I gave it back to him and said "I don't need it." My grandmother (and if I'm not mistaken, my aunt) started giving me a hard time for not taking it. I pointed out how Willie always makes a production out of his "generous" nature and left.
This became Willie's schtick. He always gave and offered, but EVERYONE was aware. It wasn't that I was embarassed to take help. I just hate show-boating jack-asses. Offer money in front of others, complain about how "little" he has (though he was supporting several children, own several vehicles, building homes, taking trips), and await praise from others.
Once, my mom (Mrs Sneed) sent me to stay with Willie and his girlfriend. She had a daughter who was about 10 or so; a fat brat who ran amuck. They all wanted me to watch her while they were at work. This girl wreaked havok; screaming, setting things on fire, kicking the door. I had no clue what to do with her. The girl friend blamed me for not being able to control her, though I was only a few years older than her. Willie sided with her without even really listening to me. I hated it.
As much as Willie offered me, he never really "gave" me anything of value. He has continued to lie, be stingy, and selfish. Everytime I gave him the benefit of the doubt, he showed me that my forgiveness was misdirected. He has proven that he will never change.
Perhaps that is why I was so desperate to have a specific relationship with Joseph and Scott. Maybe I thought they would replace the broken piece of the family I was placed in.
I have and will continue to tell you experiences, thoughts, and memories of my two brothers. This paints the illusion that I grew up without a brother...well, for the most part, I might as well have. But there was another member of the Sneed household. His name was Willie and for legal purposes, he was my brother.
I have ZERO good memories about Willie. He was quite a bit older than me. He left home while I was rather young and soon joined the navy.
My childhood with him consisted of broken promises and lousy outtings. It became a running joke between my cousins and I about Willie's promises. He promised to take me places on a regular basis. I can probably count on one hand how many times he came through. His absence and his disregard for spending time with me was not the worst thing. It wasn't even his inappropriate sexual encounters with his girlfriend of the month.
You see, I left home quickly. If you've ready any of my other post, you'll know that "running" is an understatement. Still over the last 15 years or so, I have managed to stop in at home 3 or 4 times. Once, I stopped in at my grandmother's house. Willie was there. I was trying to talk about a few things that bothered me. He asked me if I needed any money. Lord knows I did, but at the time I was more concerned about my mental state and my future.
I don't think I answered him. He asked again. I said "sure." He gives me $20-$30, followed by "I really don't have it to give." I gave it back to him and said "I don't need it." My grandmother (and if I'm not mistaken, my aunt) started giving me a hard time for not taking it. I pointed out how Willie always makes a production out of his "generous" nature and left.
This became Willie's schtick. He always gave and offered, but EVERYONE was aware. It wasn't that I was embarassed to take help. I just hate show-boating jack-asses. Offer money in front of others, complain about how "little" he has (though he was supporting several children, own several vehicles, building homes, taking trips), and await praise from others.
Once, my mom (Mrs Sneed) sent me to stay with Willie and his girlfriend. She had a daughter who was about 10 or so; a fat brat who ran amuck. They all wanted me to watch her while they were at work. This girl wreaked havok; screaming, setting things on fire, kicking the door. I had no clue what to do with her. The girl friend blamed me for not being able to control her, though I was only a few years older than her. Willie sided with her without even really listening to me. I hated it.
As much as Willie offered me, he never really "gave" me anything of value. He has continued to lie, be stingy, and selfish. Everytime I gave him the benefit of the doubt, he showed me that my forgiveness was misdirected. He has proven that he will never change.
Perhaps that is why I was so desperate to have a specific relationship with Joseph and Scott. Maybe I thought they would replace the broken piece of the family I was placed in.
14 March 2011
The Nephs
We are given the greatest gift of all; a child's laughter...Because that is a sure sign they are doing something wrong like watching porn or throwing knives at grandma.
Though I have not shared the story of my trek to Minnesota yet, let me give you a rough outline. I moved to Minnesota in 2008 to assist my brother. Things went bad...VERY BAD. I got depressed. I ended up moving back to Enid out of fear for where my head was and really spent the next few years trying to recover.
If you've ever seen the show Buffy The Vampire Slayer, there is a season where she comes back from the dead. She mopes around the entire season giving clues to her strange attitude and her inability to connect back with life. The other characters in the show (as well as most of the audience) were annoyed with her sadness and awkwardness, but I completely understood.
I had learned that I was floating around, unconnected to anything or anyone. Every tie I had seemed estranged. However, my brother, Scott, had asked a favor of me; to check in on his boys for him while he was in Minnesota. He asked me to visit them and make sure they were okay from time to time.
I was in a horrible place...felt useless and naked to the world...except when it came to this favor. I went to visit them around Christmas.
The moment I was given this responsibility, I took it and ran with it. I felt I could contribute something useful to not only my brother, but also to two young boys. I remembered all the things that I didn't have, all the things I felt I needed and didn't get...That is what I would offer to them. I would not (and could not) ever be the parent, but I could be the uncle...one of many watching over them even if from a distance.
Of course, my first reaction was to spoil them rotten with toys and food. Then, my history and background with child welfare and all the studies I had done on psychology began to bubble and boil. I thought of all the things I could help guide them through.
Being a parent is difficult. You don't have the time, the energy, or the money to do the things you WANT to do to help them...because, frankly, from what I've seen...parents barely have time to do the things they NEED to do. It's a long list of tasks. That is where aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents come in. We are there to support the path that parents have set their children on.
So, when I met them at Christmas, I had all sorts of fears. Will we get along? Will they listen to me? Will they turn into primates and start flinging feces in the car? Do they have disorders that I can't handle?
When I picked them up, it was what you would expect. They didn't know me and I barely knew them. I saw them twice when they were babies, though I had a few pictures of them.
I decided the safest place to go was the mall and Toys-R-Us. Typical boys that they were, they wanted to look at and do everything. They were inclined to bounce off of the walls and beg for things (some of which they got). I was suprised to find out that they had manners (and even used them most of the time). They were funny and friendly and I saw sooo much of thier dad in them (physically and personality). They were family and were easy to connect with.
Every since then, I have tried to visit them once a month and have reached out to my other brother's children (a niece and nephew). I make myself available to them all. I'm sure that the difficulty I have of getting a child of my own is bandaged by my relationship with all of them, but that's okay. Regardless of the type of relationship I have with any of them, I just want them to know that I'm always there and they are always loved...all of them.
They dont' know it, but they probably saved my life. I deal with depression and it fluctuates in severity, but it has been watered down dramatically every since I took on the role of "Uncle Chris". It's one of the best lables I've ever been branded with.
Though I have not shared the story of my trek to Minnesota yet, let me give you a rough outline. I moved to Minnesota in 2008 to assist my brother. Things went bad...VERY BAD. I got depressed. I ended up moving back to Enid out of fear for where my head was and really spent the next few years trying to recover.
If you've ever seen the show Buffy The Vampire Slayer, there is a season where she comes back from the dead. She mopes around the entire season giving clues to her strange attitude and her inability to connect back with life. The other characters in the show (as well as most of the audience) were annoyed with her sadness and awkwardness, but I completely understood.
I had learned that I was floating around, unconnected to anything or anyone. Every tie I had seemed estranged. However, my brother, Scott, had asked a favor of me; to check in on his boys for him while he was in Minnesota. He asked me to visit them and make sure they were okay from time to time.
I was in a horrible place...felt useless and naked to the world...except when it came to this favor. I went to visit them around Christmas.
The moment I was given this responsibility, I took it and ran with it. I felt I could contribute something useful to not only my brother, but also to two young boys. I remembered all the things that I didn't have, all the things I felt I needed and didn't get...That is what I would offer to them. I would not (and could not) ever be the parent, but I could be the uncle...one of many watching over them even if from a distance.
Of course, my first reaction was to spoil them rotten with toys and food. Then, my history and background with child welfare and all the studies I had done on psychology began to bubble and boil. I thought of all the things I could help guide them through.
Being a parent is difficult. You don't have the time, the energy, or the money to do the things you WANT to do to help them...because, frankly, from what I've seen...parents barely have time to do the things they NEED to do. It's a long list of tasks. That is where aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents come in. We are there to support the path that parents have set their children on.
So, when I met them at Christmas, I had all sorts of fears. Will we get along? Will they listen to me? Will they turn into primates and start flinging feces in the car? Do they have disorders that I can't handle?
When I picked them up, it was what you would expect. They didn't know me and I barely knew them. I saw them twice when they were babies, though I had a few pictures of them.
I decided the safest place to go was the mall and Toys-R-Us. Typical boys that they were, they wanted to look at and do everything. They were inclined to bounce off of the walls and beg for things (some of which they got). I was suprised to find out that they had manners (and even used them most of the time). They were funny and friendly and I saw sooo much of thier dad in them (physically and personality). They were family and were easy to connect with.
Every since then, I have tried to visit them once a month and have reached out to my other brother's children (a niece and nephew). I make myself available to them all. I'm sure that the difficulty I have of getting a child of my own is bandaged by my relationship with all of them, but that's okay. Regardless of the type of relationship I have with any of them, I just want them to know that I'm always there and they are always loved...all of them.
They dont' know it, but they probably saved my life. I deal with depression and it fluctuates in severity, but it has been watered down dramatically every since I took on the role of "Uncle Chris". It's one of the best lables I've ever been branded with.
17 February 2011
A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Breaks
How long do you have fruitless dreams? How many disappointments do you endure? I suppose as many as you live to see.
From the moment I was forming my own thoughts, I never doubted there was a God. As my life was riddled with misfortune and every endeavor shredded to pieces, I sought a higher power to get me through.
Every Sunday without fail, you would find me at church growing up. It was a small church in a small town; majority black folk...Methodist. If you read the central core story of this blog, you know that it was within walking distance. There was another church down the street, but people spoke ill of it especially after the pastor put speakers outside that spewed his words that everyone not attending his church was going to hell.
Of course, being a child I grew bored quickly with the main sermon delivered at my church. I did enjoy the music and passing notes with my cousins. I loved church. I loved the building. I loved the routine. This began to change the year of my a-mom's funeral. As I cried and suffered, I still "called on the Lord". I had no one to turn to. My a-family did not excel in talking through issues with their children. My Aunt Pam came the closest, but even then...
Nope. Often, it was just me and God. In fact, the times I've tried to commit suicide, I looked forward to meeting the divine entity that controlled existence.
I left Texas and once I settled in Tulsa, I tried to attend a few churches. I kept my interest in men to myself because I was/am a private person (and a little bit of fear of reaction). I made a really "good friend" through work, who invited me to attend her church. I think they were called "Rema" or something like that. She was as sweet as she could be, until she found out that I dated men. Then she ditched me.
My attitude towards "Christians" continued to dwindle. I had every confidence in what a Christian was supposed to be, but had a difficult time finding anyone that supported my belief. I never gave up on God, though. For 15 years, I visited churches that were warm as ice sculptures. I was terribly shy, but figured church would be the one place where people would embrace you...especially as a new comer. What a disappointment. Yet then, I knew that these churches were off base and that God was right even if the churches were not.
I prayed for my family, even when I wasn't talking to them. I prayed for my future, for guidance. It didn't matter what environment I lived in, who I was with, or what I was going through. I was introduced to that famous phrase though; "God always answers prayers. It's just that sometimes the answer is no."
For some reason, around 2009, I felt myself weaken. I just grew tired of "keeping the faith" and "meeting heartache after heartache". When I prayed, God's answer always seemed to be "no". Then, I was told I wasn't praying "correctly". I have been told I'm going to hell no matter what I do. People have spent years vomiting the same cop out response that everything happens for a reason. The more I heard "Christians" talk about God, the more skeptical I became. It all just seemed like they had an answer for everything (whether it made sense or not).
What I came to believe is that IF God is real, he can't be pulling strings in our life to make "something happen for a reason" because we are all given free will. If we have free will, then he wouldn't be doing anything to influence us, right? That's just an example of where my thinking was going.
Now, don't get me wrong...I think everyone is entitled to believe what they want. As I once wrote in one of my movie scripts "We all are on different journeys, trying to reach the same destination." (or something like that). I think it is better to believe in something if it gets you through life, brings you comfort, and isn't hurting anyone else.
My point in all this is that life has been cruel to me. I have also been very lucky. In each moment, I believed in God, with all of my heart and Jesus was my only constant friend. Yet, the more I sought him in churches and rubbed elbows with the "righteous", the weaker the thread between me and HIM became. Well, except for one church...
It was/is an unusual church that promoted itself as an open door church that was for those who felt as if they didn't fit in at other churches. I was in awe the first time I attended a service there. They put on a little mini-southern rock-style concert (which was heaven) including smoke and light show, followed by a passionate and seemingly genuine service that was displayed on a big projector. The people were simple, worked hard, and didn't judge or ask. We were only there for the Lord.
I left that church too...for many reasons. In the end, I saw changes taking place that removed what I had found so endearing. People that I had grown to really care for were leaving and I have an uncanny ability to assess people. I can meet them once and get an inner "green" or "red light" for what kind of character they are. The congregation as a whole are wonderful people, but between the changes it was going through, changes I was going through (including a 10 year relationship that ended supposedly over God)...I could not return.
Where am I now? Nowhere. I sought God for 30 years, working hard to have a relationship...to now be left with something of an empty heart. Make no mistake. I hope he is real. I hope that the void will close and I'll find the kind of nirvana that I've only experienced once or twice in a few years.
If you believe in God, I would like to recommend that you sincerely think about Him and embrace whatever good you feel in your spirituality. If you don't believe in God, don't pick on or ridicule those that do...no matter how you feel they treat others. It isn't your place to convince them of anything. Like every group, there are good and bad members. Plus, you didn't make the hypocritical ones assholes, and you most likely won't change them.
Good night.
From the moment I was forming my own thoughts, I never doubted there was a God. As my life was riddled with misfortune and every endeavor shredded to pieces, I sought a higher power to get me through.
Every Sunday without fail, you would find me at church growing up. It was a small church in a small town; majority black folk...Methodist. If you read the central core story of this blog, you know that it was within walking distance. There was another church down the street, but people spoke ill of it especially after the pastor put speakers outside that spewed his words that everyone not attending his church was going to hell.
Of course, being a child I grew bored quickly with the main sermon delivered at my church. I did enjoy the music and passing notes with my cousins. I loved church. I loved the building. I loved the routine. This began to change the year of my a-mom's funeral. As I cried and suffered, I still "called on the Lord". I had no one to turn to. My a-family did not excel in talking through issues with their children. My Aunt Pam came the closest, but even then...
Nope. Often, it was just me and God. In fact, the times I've tried to commit suicide, I looked forward to meeting the divine entity that controlled existence.
I left Texas and once I settled in Tulsa, I tried to attend a few churches. I kept my interest in men to myself because I was/am a private person (and a little bit of fear of reaction). I made a really "good friend" through work, who invited me to attend her church. I think they were called "Rema" or something like that. She was as sweet as she could be, until she found out that I dated men. Then she ditched me.
My attitude towards "Christians" continued to dwindle. I had every confidence in what a Christian was supposed to be, but had a difficult time finding anyone that supported my belief. I never gave up on God, though. For 15 years, I visited churches that were warm as ice sculptures. I was terribly shy, but figured church would be the one place where people would embrace you...especially as a new comer. What a disappointment. Yet then, I knew that these churches were off base and that God was right even if the churches were not.
I prayed for my family, even when I wasn't talking to them. I prayed for my future, for guidance. It didn't matter what environment I lived in, who I was with, or what I was going through. I was introduced to that famous phrase though; "God always answers prayers. It's just that sometimes the answer is no."
For some reason, around 2009, I felt myself weaken. I just grew tired of "keeping the faith" and "meeting heartache after heartache". When I prayed, God's answer always seemed to be "no". Then, I was told I wasn't praying "correctly". I have been told I'm going to hell no matter what I do. People have spent years vomiting the same cop out response that everything happens for a reason. The more I heard "Christians" talk about God, the more skeptical I became. It all just seemed like they had an answer for everything (whether it made sense or not).
What I came to believe is that IF God is real, he can't be pulling strings in our life to make "something happen for a reason" because we are all given free will. If we have free will, then he wouldn't be doing anything to influence us, right? That's just an example of where my thinking was going.
Now, don't get me wrong...I think everyone is entitled to believe what they want. As I once wrote in one of my movie scripts "We all are on different journeys, trying to reach the same destination." (or something like that). I think it is better to believe in something if it gets you through life, brings you comfort, and isn't hurting anyone else.
My point in all this is that life has been cruel to me. I have also been very lucky. In each moment, I believed in God, with all of my heart and Jesus was my only constant friend. Yet, the more I sought him in churches and rubbed elbows with the "righteous", the weaker the thread between me and HIM became. Well, except for one church...
It was/is an unusual church that promoted itself as an open door church that was for those who felt as if they didn't fit in at other churches. I was in awe the first time I attended a service there. They put on a little mini-southern rock-style concert (which was heaven) including smoke and light show, followed by a passionate and seemingly genuine service that was displayed on a big projector. The people were simple, worked hard, and didn't judge or ask. We were only there for the Lord.
I left that church too...for many reasons. In the end, I saw changes taking place that removed what I had found so endearing. People that I had grown to really care for were leaving and I have an uncanny ability to assess people. I can meet them once and get an inner "green" or "red light" for what kind of character they are. The congregation as a whole are wonderful people, but between the changes it was going through, changes I was going through (including a 10 year relationship that ended supposedly over God)...I could not return.
Where am I now? Nowhere. I sought God for 30 years, working hard to have a relationship...to now be left with something of an empty heart. Make no mistake. I hope he is real. I hope that the void will close and I'll find the kind of nirvana that I've only experienced once or twice in a few years.
If you believe in God, I would like to recommend that you sincerely think about Him and embrace whatever good you feel in your spirituality. If you don't believe in God, don't pick on or ridicule those that do...no matter how you feel they treat others. It isn't your place to convince them of anything. Like every group, there are good and bad members. Plus, you didn't make the hypocritical ones assholes, and you most likely won't change them.
Good night.
14 February 2011
Cupid Involved In Drive-by Shooting...Story at 10.
love (noun) - a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend
I am not one to talk about love or my personal life with others. I am a private person. My brother Joe says I'm too private. So, I'm going to take a chance and open up about love, domestic violence, and relationships. Now, before I go any further, let me assure those of you that are homophobic, uncomfortable with gay related subject matter, or anyone with a g-rated mentality, that I will NOT be getting into any inappropriate details. It will be nothing that I wouldn't share with my mother or yours. In fact, if you are hesitant, I encourage you to push ahead and read the rest of this blog.
RECAP: A-mom passed away. Brothers are scattered over Texas and I have lost contact. I have moved from Texas to Tulsa, OK. I moved in with a controlling, disgusting, roommate.
So, in my effort to curb lonliness, I used the safest means I had to finding someone to love. Being young and gay in the 90's, you couldn't just walk up to someone and ask for thier number the same way you would if you were straight. You might get slugged or shot. So, I used a phone dating service.
Not long after entering my information, I came in contact with a man named Darren. I was about 19 or so. He was 30. He lived in a very small southern Oklahoma town. We talked every day, sometimes twice a day. The conversation was great; music, jokes, a little of our history. That's really it was all about. We enjoyed talking to each other.
I quickly decided to go visit him. He offered to buy me a greyhound bus ticket. Yes, now I see the stupidity of going hours away from anyone I knew to spend the weekend with a stranger. However, the moment I saw him, I thought...what a nerd! (Fortunately, I like nerds) He had limbs like Popeye, and eyes like a child. Not a model, but Darren gave off the most warm and loving aura.
Those two days it was like I was in jr high again. We just laughed the whole weekend. When time came for me to go back to Tulsa, we hung out at the park and cried until the bus came. We connected faster than any stranger I had ever come in contact with. Before I got on the bus, he said "Move in with me." I think I looked at him like he was crazy.
So, two weeks later, I quit my job and moved to this ridiculously small town. I was this lanky young adult, new to the world and was moving to the town of Atoka. Darren was on disability, but had a part time job at the library. He did not want me to work...so I didn't. I had always kept a job since leaving Texas. Unemployment was new. He was innoccent, took care of me, and showed nothing but love...until...
One night, I was asleep and I heard this crash in the living room. I got up and realized that Darren must be in the living room. I walked out of the bedroom and saw Darrn on the floor, phone reciever in hand, and coffee table overturned. He was sitting there trying to put the phone on the table, though the table was on its side. His eyes looked sleepy and his hands were uncoordinated. I stared at him, frightened. I eventually forced myself to go in. I asked "Darren, what's wrong?" tears in my eyes. He slowly turned his head to me and held the phone out to me, as a toddler would offer you something. I helped him to bed, cleaned up the living room, and went to the bedroom. I did not sleep.
The next morning I asked him what was going on. He explained that he took medication to help with something or other and sometimes it made him a little loopy. I accepted that answer and didn't think any more of it.
As time went on, Darren started displaying "Dr. Jekyll / Mr. Hyde" type behavior. One moment he was sweet and loving, almost to the point of needing to be cared for. Then, he would lash out and not make any sense. By the next day, he was apologizing. He passed it off as bi-polor disorder and said part of his medicine was for that. I knew little of mental disorders, but I wasn't as inclined to subscribe to the fact that the meds made him act so strangely. We argued on and off, usually with him apologizing the next day. The fighting became more common until one day he grabbed my arm when I tried to leave. It hurt.
For the next 2 years, Darren and I would have this on again, off again relationship that built to a few occassions of him getting physically abusive. Once in a bar, to the point the bartender had to intervene. Another time, he shoved me with both hands as I was about to descend a flight of metal stairs. Always after he had popped a few pills...sometimes washed down with booze. His addiction increased. I eventually learned that he was writing his own prescriptions. He would steal pads from doctor's offices and (thanks to his early studies to become a pharmacist) write out whatever he wanted. He got away with it too. I spent at least 6 seperate nights in the hospital because of his overdosing. Each time, he told me it was because he couldn't live without me.
In the middle of my "Darren Years", I met Robby. Robby was a young, beautiful man, as sweet as southern tea, who was actually supposed to be meeting and dating Darren (during our longest hiatus). As things turned out, Robby and I spent roughly 6 months together after Robby wrote me a letter nervously confessing his growing feelings for me. I grew to truly love Robby. He was just who I needed at the time. He was one of two relationships I've ever been in that showed any sympathy for everything I had gone through and one of the only boyfriends that made me feel as if I were worth something. So what happened?
Darren happened. A psychotic roommate happened. Our youth and inexperience, not having a car, and a few self-righteous friends happened. With Robby, I felt as if the building debris of drama surrounding me was bringing down this bright ball of light. I decided to let him go. My life was an embarassing mess and I cared about him enough to let him go.
I cried and sunk into a deep depression. I moved out of my psycho roommates home and in with Darren and about 7 drag queens (proof that I was hitting rock bottom). Darren still pursued me. I have no doubt that he loved me...well, the good Darren did. The pill-popping Darren hated himself more than he loved me. This was where I lived when he tried to push me down a flight of stairs. For a moment, I saw me snapping my neck on those steps. It was too much; living with Darren, losing Robby, missing my family, feelings alone, hating my job...
One rare day, while all of the drag queens and Darren were out of the apartment, I took a handful of pills...asprin, diabetic meds, etc....whatever was in the house. Darren came home and found out what I had done. He screamed at me in anger. How ironic. All the overdoses he had done and how I had stood by his side, but I had done the same and he was so angry he wanted nothing to do with me. Analyzing it now? I think it made him think of the part of himself that he hated...so I became who he hated.
I was given a choice at the hospital. I could either be arrested and committed to a mental health fascility or commit myself. I was defeated. I went along with it. I had to spend two weeks locked away from the world. The one time I called Darren, he cussed me out and hung up on me...even told his roommates I had stolen a missing phone card. That place was...like a resort. I don't think they helped anybody...but the peace was nice and I had time to think about my predicament.
When I got out, I tried to get back together with Robby, but he was smart enough to decline. Our time had passed, I guess. I poured my heart into a letter, which he politely and gently returned without reading. He included a letter explaining. It hurt at the time, but upon reflection it really was a mature decision on his part.
Darren and I did get back together. It was "okay" for awhile. He really tried, I think. Addiction doesn't let go easily, though. He followed me around and would call and threaten to kill anyone who talked to me or went out with me. I got home after being made aware of this fact, by a rattled young bouncer who had given me his number.
Darren and I were living together because he had nowhere else to go...and I didn't like being alone. That night I got home and confronted him about the calls. It blew into a screaming fit. This escalated into a punch being thrown. I had enough. We began to exchange one blow after another. He backed down and I left the apartment.
The next morning, Darren had overdosed again. This time, he went onto life support. I sat with him at the hospital as much as I could. Our landlord and I had a long talk about everything that happened. She allowed me to remain, but Darren was not allowed back. It was a wise move on her part. That was the first break in our unhealthy relationship.
He eventually got arrested again, for forging a prescription. I visited him at the holding cell. I told him that I loved him, but that we were only hurting each other. That was the last time I saw him.
A few years ago, I tried to look him up on the internet and found out that he had passed away. He was finally at peace.
From Robby, I learned what a relationship could be...the potential for dates in the future. I do not compare others to him, but keep my mind open for how great one could be. From Darren, I learned to stand up for myself. I learned about unconditional love. I also learned that loving someone does not mean that you belong together. You can love people without having them in your life. Darren was just another amazingly wonderful person who was dealing with his own curse, like a werewolf fighting a split identity. His curse and my curse was killing us...so I left him, to save myself.
It's bittersweet to some, but I feel nothing but love when I think of them. That's why I chose to write about this time in my life.
Happy Valentine's Day.
I am not one to talk about love or my personal life with others. I am a private person. My brother Joe says I'm too private. So, I'm going to take a chance and open up about love, domestic violence, and relationships. Now, before I go any further, let me assure those of you that are homophobic, uncomfortable with gay related subject matter, or anyone with a g-rated mentality, that I will NOT be getting into any inappropriate details. It will be nothing that I wouldn't share with my mother or yours. In fact, if you are hesitant, I encourage you to push ahead and read the rest of this blog.
RECAP: A-mom passed away. Brothers are scattered over Texas and I have lost contact. I have moved from Texas to Tulsa, OK. I moved in with a controlling, disgusting, roommate.
So, in my effort to curb lonliness, I used the safest means I had to finding someone to love. Being young and gay in the 90's, you couldn't just walk up to someone and ask for thier number the same way you would if you were straight. You might get slugged or shot. So, I used a phone dating service.
Not long after entering my information, I came in contact with a man named Darren. I was about 19 or so. He was 30. He lived in a very small southern Oklahoma town. We talked every day, sometimes twice a day. The conversation was great; music, jokes, a little of our history. That's really it was all about. We enjoyed talking to each other.
I quickly decided to go visit him. He offered to buy me a greyhound bus ticket. Yes, now I see the stupidity of going hours away from anyone I knew to spend the weekend with a stranger. However, the moment I saw him, I thought...what a nerd! (Fortunately, I like nerds) He had limbs like Popeye, and eyes like a child. Not a model, but Darren gave off the most warm and loving aura.
Those two days it was like I was in jr high again. We just laughed the whole weekend. When time came for me to go back to Tulsa, we hung out at the park and cried until the bus came. We connected faster than any stranger I had ever come in contact with. Before I got on the bus, he said "Move in with me." I think I looked at him like he was crazy.
So, two weeks later, I quit my job and moved to this ridiculously small town. I was this lanky young adult, new to the world and was moving to the town of Atoka. Darren was on disability, but had a part time job at the library. He did not want me to work...so I didn't. I had always kept a job since leaving Texas. Unemployment was new. He was innoccent, took care of me, and showed nothing but love...until...
One night, I was asleep and I heard this crash in the living room. I got up and realized that Darren must be in the living room. I walked out of the bedroom and saw Darrn on the floor, phone reciever in hand, and coffee table overturned. He was sitting there trying to put the phone on the table, though the table was on its side. His eyes looked sleepy and his hands were uncoordinated. I stared at him, frightened. I eventually forced myself to go in. I asked "Darren, what's wrong?" tears in my eyes. He slowly turned his head to me and held the phone out to me, as a toddler would offer you something. I helped him to bed, cleaned up the living room, and went to the bedroom. I did not sleep.
The next morning I asked him what was going on. He explained that he took medication to help with something or other and sometimes it made him a little loopy. I accepted that answer and didn't think any more of it.
As time went on, Darren started displaying "Dr. Jekyll / Mr. Hyde" type behavior. One moment he was sweet and loving, almost to the point of needing to be cared for. Then, he would lash out and not make any sense. By the next day, he was apologizing. He passed it off as bi-polor disorder and said part of his medicine was for that. I knew little of mental disorders, but I wasn't as inclined to subscribe to the fact that the meds made him act so strangely. We argued on and off, usually with him apologizing the next day. The fighting became more common until one day he grabbed my arm when I tried to leave. It hurt.
For the next 2 years, Darren and I would have this on again, off again relationship that built to a few occassions of him getting physically abusive. Once in a bar, to the point the bartender had to intervene. Another time, he shoved me with both hands as I was about to descend a flight of metal stairs. Always after he had popped a few pills...sometimes washed down with booze. His addiction increased. I eventually learned that he was writing his own prescriptions. He would steal pads from doctor's offices and (thanks to his early studies to become a pharmacist) write out whatever he wanted. He got away with it too. I spent at least 6 seperate nights in the hospital because of his overdosing. Each time, he told me it was because he couldn't live without me.
In the middle of my "Darren Years", I met Robby. Robby was a young, beautiful man, as sweet as southern tea, who was actually supposed to be meeting and dating Darren (during our longest hiatus). As things turned out, Robby and I spent roughly 6 months together after Robby wrote me a letter nervously confessing his growing feelings for me. I grew to truly love Robby. He was just who I needed at the time. He was one of two relationships I've ever been in that showed any sympathy for everything I had gone through and one of the only boyfriends that made me feel as if I were worth something. So what happened?
Darren happened. A psychotic roommate happened. Our youth and inexperience, not having a car, and a few self-righteous friends happened. With Robby, I felt as if the building debris of drama surrounding me was bringing down this bright ball of light. I decided to let him go. My life was an embarassing mess and I cared about him enough to let him go.
I cried and sunk into a deep depression. I moved out of my psycho roommates home and in with Darren and about 7 drag queens (proof that I was hitting rock bottom). Darren still pursued me. I have no doubt that he loved me...well, the good Darren did. The pill-popping Darren hated himself more than he loved me. This was where I lived when he tried to push me down a flight of stairs. For a moment, I saw me snapping my neck on those steps. It was too much; living with Darren, losing Robby, missing my family, feelings alone, hating my job...
One rare day, while all of the drag queens and Darren were out of the apartment, I took a handful of pills...asprin, diabetic meds, etc....whatever was in the house. Darren came home and found out what I had done. He screamed at me in anger. How ironic. All the overdoses he had done and how I had stood by his side, but I had done the same and he was so angry he wanted nothing to do with me. Analyzing it now? I think it made him think of the part of himself that he hated...so I became who he hated.
I was given a choice at the hospital. I could either be arrested and committed to a mental health fascility or commit myself. I was defeated. I went along with it. I had to spend two weeks locked away from the world. The one time I called Darren, he cussed me out and hung up on me...even told his roommates I had stolen a missing phone card. That place was...like a resort. I don't think they helped anybody...but the peace was nice and I had time to think about my predicament.
When I got out, I tried to get back together with Robby, but he was smart enough to decline. Our time had passed, I guess. I poured my heart into a letter, which he politely and gently returned without reading. He included a letter explaining. It hurt at the time, but upon reflection it really was a mature decision on his part.
Darren and I did get back together. It was "okay" for awhile. He really tried, I think. Addiction doesn't let go easily, though. He followed me around and would call and threaten to kill anyone who talked to me or went out with me. I got home after being made aware of this fact, by a rattled young bouncer who had given me his number.
Darren and I were living together because he had nowhere else to go...and I didn't like being alone. That night I got home and confronted him about the calls. It blew into a screaming fit. This escalated into a punch being thrown. I had enough. We began to exchange one blow after another. He backed down and I left the apartment.
The next morning, Darren had overdosed again. This time, he went onto life support. I sat with him at the hospital as much as I could. Our landlord and I had a long talk about everything that happened. She allowed me to remain, but Darren was not allowed back. It was a wise move on her part. That was the first break in our unhealthy relationship.
He eventually got arrested again, for forging a prescription. I visited him at the holding cell. I told him that I loved him, but that we were only hurting each other. That was the last time I saw him.
A few years ago, I tried to look him up on the internet and found out that he had passed away. He was finally at peace.
From Robby, I learned what a relationship could be...the potential for dates in the future. I do not compare others to him, but keep my mind open for how great one could be. From Darren, I learned to stand up for myself. I learned about unconditional love. I also learned that loving someone does not mean that you belong together. You can love people without having them in your life. Darren was just another amazingly wonderful person who was dealing with his own curse, like a werewolf fighting a split identity. His curse and my curse was killing us...so I left him, to save myself.
It's bittersweet to some, but I feel nothing but love when I think of them. That's why I chose to write about this time in my life.
Happy Valentine's Day.
10 February 2011
Me?
We are who we feel most comfortable being, usually catered to who we have found ourselves to be most comfortable around.
I'm going to stray from all the heavy topics that we have been covering. Instead, I'm going to simply share some of my favorites.
Favorite Video Game; Anyone that truly knows me, knows that my favorite video game is Final Fantasy (in particular Final Fantasy VII). I own almost every FF game, which there are 13 (not including the spin-offs and special games). I like it because the truly good ones (like 3, 7, and to a lesser extent 10) encompasses everything. It's funny, scary, romantic, action-packed. It almost always kept to the top of the list with its graphics and gameplay. The characters were far deeper and stories much richer than any other game series in existence.
Favorite Animated TV Show: It used to be the Simpsons, without hesitation. I mean...they've been on the air longer than any other show (animated or live-action). Still, these days they seem to recycle jokes and the characters haven't grown. So, I have to choose Groening's other popular show, Futurama. I find it edgy and funny enough, without being desperate like Family Guy.
Favorite Pizza : Hawaiin w/ onion. It covers all of the food groups.
Favorite Moment: My happiest moment was doing the children's show at the Gaslight Theatre in Enid. I have done more difficult roles, more complex shows, and performed in front of larger audiences. Still, nothing is more rewarding than capturing a child's attention. They are so honest that if they like you, you can trust it without ulterior motive. When I've seen soo many unhappy children, looking in thier faces after performing Jack & The Beanstalk was stellar.
Favorite Horror Movie: Tough, but I still have to go with the original Halloween, by John Carpenter. Watching it, growing up I was terrified. There was little/no gore, but the suspense, tension, and genuine concern for the lead heroine was all I needed. Jamie Lee Curtis became a star because of that movie and I was an instant fan of the series.
Favorite Action Film: Tough...because early on I didn't enjoy the "mainstream" action films such as "Rambo" and "Die Hard". There was the two exceptions; Chuck Norris's "Silent Rage" and anything with China O'Brien. These days I like heroes who can perform amazing (unrealistic) feats. So, with that in mind...I'd have to go with Kill Bill. You TOTALLY understood that characters motivation and could almost think she'd have enough rage and frustration to wipe out literally 100's of people...single handedly. It was full and satisfying.
Favorite Band: Bedlight For Blue Eyes. A friend of mine left a copy of thier album at my house and I fell in love. His voice was strong and powerful, the band was solid, lyrics tight...etc. They are no longer together but they left me enough with one album.
I think that's all I have for tonight.
I'm going to stray from all the heavy topics that we have been covering. Instead, I'm going to simply share some of my favorites.
Favorite Video Game; Anyone that truly knows me, knows that my favorite video game is Final Fantasy (in particular Final Fantasy VII). I own almost every FF game, which there are 13 (not including the spin-offs and special games). I like it because the truly good ones (like 3, 7, and to a lesser extent 10) encompasses everything. It's funny, scary, romantic, action-packed. It almost always kept to the top of the list with its graphics and gameplay. The characters were far deeper and stories much richer than any other game series in existence.
Favorite Animated TV Show: It used to be the Simpsons, without hesitation. I mean...they've been on the air longer than any other show (animated or live-action). Still, these days they seem to recycle jokes and the characters haven't grown. So, I have to choose Groening's other popular show, Futurama. I find it edgy and funny enough, without being desperate like Family Guy.
Favorite Pizza : Hawaiin w/ onion. It covers all of the food groups.
Favorite Moment: My happiest moment was doing the children's show at the Gaslight Theatre in Enid. I have done more difficult roles, more complex shows, and performed in front of larger audiences. Still, nothing is more rewarding than capturing a child's attention. They are so honest that if they like you, you can trust it without ulterior motive. When I've seen soo many unhappy children, looking in thier faces after performing Jack & The Beanstalk was stellar.
Favorite Horror Movie: Tough, but I still have to go with the original Halloween, by John Carpenter. Watching it, growing up I was terrified. There was little/no gore, but the suspense, tension, and genuine concern for the lead heroine was all I needed. Jamie Lee Curtis became a star because of that movie and I was an instant fan of the series.
Favorite Action Film: Tough...because early on I didn't enjoy the "mainstream" action films such as "Rambo" and "Die Hard". There was the two exceptions; Chuck Norris's "Silent Rage" and anything with China O'Brien. These days I like heroes who can perform amazing (unrealistic) feats. So, with that in mind...I'd have to go with Kill Bill. You TOTALLY understood that characters motivation and could almost think she'd have enough rage and frustration to wipe out literally 100's of people...single handedly. It was full and satisfying.
Favorite Band: Bedlight For Blue Eyes. A friend of mine left a copy of thier album at my house and I fell in love. His voice was strong and powerful, the band was solid, lyrics tight...etc. They are no longer together but they left me enough with one album.
I think that's all I have for tonight.
08 February 2011
Every Yellow Brick Road Is Rocky
No matter what we think, we are TAUGHT to love. It is not what we are told, but what we see that gives those lessons.
So, the year is 1992; one of two years that this blog centers around (the other being '79, the year my b-mom was killed). My brother has opened the door to a huge secret of my heritage. In most stories, that would probably be the "happy ending". Brothers are reunited, truths have been revealed, and an end to the life I knew. What do you think happened then? Me, Joe, and Scott began our loving relationship as family? Not quite.
The week Joe came to town, he got to spend the week with me (see previous post). I think it was sad that we had to beg my a-mom for this "favor". Hesitantly, she allowed him to stay. The first night, we were up late. We laughed and talked until the wee hours. My a-mom barged in and threatened to send him back to Dallas, if we didn't keep it down. She was not above using guilt or threats as a way of expression.
That same year is the year my a-mom passed away. Joe moved down (I later found out that my a-dad had called him and asked for help with me because he was worried about my welfare).
When Joe moved in, I was estatic...for about 10 min. Joe hit the streets with a vengance, meeting everyone in the neighborhood (especially the women). He had wanted me to go running with him, but I was different. I can't blame it on how I was raised, or just being gay. I was simply a kid who went to church every Sunday, pressed to be perfect by my a-mom. My morale compass was working overtime, while Joe's seemed to be broken. I was furious with him. I had lost around 12 or 13 years with him and was insistant on catching up on lost time.
The thing I did not realize about Joe until now, is that he had one goal almost his entire life; to find me. It was not about catching up, re-hashing the past, or any of that. He was a 17 year old teenager, who had lost so much and lived a less than charmed life. It was simply about having his brothers in his life.Once he did, everything else was straight in his world.
For me, it was all about grasping the fact that I had a brother and getting used to him...hell, getting used to any of this being real. I was trying to bond and get to know him. I was a serious and mature kid (for my age anyway). I was standing at a fish bowl that was this other life, tapping on the glass. Joe was swimming around oblivous to much. I had this new life waiting; controlling, but loving mother passed away and a new set of brothers.
There was one or two occassions that we made plans, but he didn't show due to hanging out with one girl or another. That was the kind of crap I had gone through with my a-brother (adopted), Willie. I spent my entire life with him making promises that he did not keep.
It happened one too many times and along with the secret that I was "gay", the loss of my mom, the mental decent of my father, the family falling apart...blah, blah, blah...I had a nervous breakdown. I was in my room when I began crying. It built into me getting physical with the furniture. I grabbed pictures and books and threw them. I took the drawers out of my dresser and flung them (with contents). I took scissors to a few stuffed animals. The room was a wreck. I fell asleep in the middle of it all.
I eventually got up and went to the kitchen. That's where I was when Joe came home and found the destruction. I remember his voice and tone when he came into the room. "Chris! What happened to your room?" I refused to answer, at first.
That was the start of one of many explosive arguments. Joe tried. He really did. I tried, too. We needed more help, though...to cope with everything that had happened and to cope with each other.
At one point, we added Scott to the mix (see "Perfect Weather For A Kidnapping" blog). Scott and Joe already had a relationship. Though they didn't see each other THAT much, they knew of each other and had spent time as brothers. So, when Scott came, I was just that much more of the odd man out. There was constant fighting, it seemed. Joe was chasing "love" from the girls in town. Scott wasn't thinking for himself, because Joe was thinking for him. Then, there was me. I was afraid of what they were doing to my home, the guy that killed mom, and life without my a-mom's guidance. Even the very night that Scott came to my house, we fought. Joe had friends over and they began to harass and make fun of the guy that brought us from Dallas. I was furious. This guy had rescued Scott, in my mind, from his grandmother. He deserved thanks. (Maybe Joe will share the details of "Brother Bob"...maybe he won't). Point is, our first night together was as special as a natural disaster.
We got Scott in school, made space for him in one of the bedrooms, and thus set off the six month, testosterone fest that was my house. Yet, the illusion of building this life with my brothers was destroyed. See, we had stolen my brother from Dallas...from our grandmother, who threatened to blow my brains out with a shotgun for taking Scott. She proceeded to tell me how I had no family in Dallas, no one wanted me around, and that I was only a bad memory of my b-mom, her daughter, Judy. Not long after that, she came with the police. I looked to my a-dad, and he said there was nothing he could do right then. He wasn't an aggressive man anyway, but I think he would have helped if he could have. I was crushed.
Not long after that, Joe left. I was alone. I was losing everything I loved; mom's to death, dad to his own depression (will cover later), Scott to grandma BJ, and Joe to our inability to find peace.
It was going to be a LONG road to reunification.
So, the year is 1992; one of two years that this blog centers around (the other being '79, the year my b-mom was killed). My brother has opened the door to a huge secret of my heritage. In most stories, that would probably be the "happy ending". Brothers are reunited, truths have been revealed, and an end to the life I knew. What do you think happened then? Me, Joe, and Scott began our loving relationship as family? Not quite.
The week Joe came to town, he got to spend the week with me (see previous post). I think it was sad that we had to beg my a-mom for this "favor". Hesitantly, she allowed him to stay. The first night, we were up late. We laughed and talked until the wee hours. My a-mom barged in and threatened to send him back to Dallas, if we didn't keep it down. She was not above using guilt or threats as a way of expression.
That same year is the year my a-mom passed away. Joe moved down (I later found out that my a-dad had called him and asked for help with me because he was worried about my welfare).
When Joe moved in, I was estatic...for about 10 min. Joe hit the streets with a vengance, meeting everyone in the neighborhood (especially the women). He had wanted me to go running with him, but I was different. I can't blame it on how I was raised, or just being gay. I was simply a kid who went to church every Sunday, pressed to be perfect by my a-mom. My morale compass was working overtime, while Joe's seemed to be broken. I was furious with him. I had lost around 12 or 13 years with him and was insistant on catching up on lost time.
The thing I did not realize about Joe until now, is that he had one goal almost his entire life; to find me. It was not about catching up, re-hashing the past, or any of that. He was a 17 year old teenager, who had lost so much and lived a less than charmed life. It was simply about having his brothers in his life.Once he did, everything else was straight in his world.
For me, it was all about grasping the fact that I had a brother and getting used to him...hell, getting used to any of this being real. I was trying to bond and get to know him. I was a serious and mature kid (for my age anyway). I was standing at a fish bowl that was this other life, tapping on the glass. Joe was swimming around oblivous to much. I had this new life waiting; controlling, but loving mother passed away and a new set of brothers.
There was one or two occassions that we made plans, but he didn't show due to hanging out with one girl or another. That was the kind of crap I had gone through with my a-brother (adopted), Willie. I spent my entire life with him making promises that he did not keep.
It happened one too many times and along with the secret that I was "gay", the loss of my mom, the mental decent of my father, the family falling apart...blah, blah, blah...I had a nervous breakdown. I was in my room when I began crying. It built into me getting physical with the furniture. I grabbed pictures and books and threw them. I took the drawers out of my dresser and flung them (with contents). I took scissors to a few stuffed animals. The room was a wreck. I fell asleep in the middle of it all.
I eventually got up and went to the kitchen. That's where I was when Joe came home and found the destruction. I remember his voice and tone when he came into the room. "Chris! What happened to your room?" I refused to answer, at first.
That was the start of one of many explosive arguments. Joe tried. He really did. I tried, too. We needed more help, though...to cope with everything that had happened and to cope with each other.
At one point, we added Scott to the mix (see "Perfect Weather For A Kidnapping" blog). Scott and Joe already had a relationship. Though they didn't see each other THAT much, they knew of each other and had spent time as brothers. So, when Scott came, I was just that much more of the odd man out. There was constant fighting, it seemed. Joe was chasing "love" from the girls in town. Scott wasn't thinking for himself, because Joe was thinking for him. Then, there was me. I was afraid of what they were doing to my home, the guy that killed mom, and life without my a-mom's guidance. Even the very night that Scott came to my house, we fought. Joe had friends over and they began to harass and make fun of the guy that brought us from Dallas. I was furious. This guy had rescued Scott, in my mind, from his grandmother. He deserved thanks. (Maybe Joe will share the details of "Brother Bob"...maybe he won't). Point is, our first night together was as special as a natural disaster.
We got Scott in school, made space for him in one of the bedrooms, and thus set off the six month, testosterone fest that was my house. Yet, the illusion of building this life with my brothers was destroyed. See, we had stolen my brother from Dallas...from our grandmother, who threatened to blow my brains out with a shotgun for taking Scott. She proceeded to tell me how I had no family in Dallas, no one wanted me around, and that I was only a bad memory of my b-mom, her daughter, Judy. Not long after that, she came with the police. I looked to my a-dad, and he said there was nothing he could do right then. He wasn't an aggressive man anyway, but I think he would have helped if he could have. I was crushed.
Not long after that, Joe left. I was alone. I was losing everything I loved; mom's to death, dad to his own depression (will cover later), Scott to grandma BJ, and Joe to our inability to find peace.
It was going to be a LONG road to reunification.
07 February 2011
Is This Yours?
You hug a friend, then you're a good friend. You hug a stranger, then you're a good person.
As we've covered, my brother and I were left with strangers. There was really no connection. My a-parents (adopted) were recommended to my b-mom (bio-mom) by a friend. Truth be told, a small part of me felt that dis-connect. In addition, I had a much lighter skin tone than everyone else in my family. They were obviously black. I was like a vanilla mocha drink (my friend once called me "Buttered Toast"). You'd think I would question the skin discrepencey, but I assumed it was a genetic fluke or something.
Now, also because my a-parents feared my bio-family kidnapping me and an escaped killer on the loose, I was not allowed out of her sight very often. I was rarely let outside to play in the front yard alone. I eventually quit asking. No friends from school ever came over while she was alive (I was scared and embarrassed of her screaming at me in front of them or putting me down). I never spent the night with anyone other than adopted family. If I did go outside, I had to come in every 10 minutes to let her know I was okay. This is no exaggeration.
My family did not talk about sex...at all...ever. Anything related to sex was not only taboo, but the consequences for saying anything or looking at anything sexual was a good whipping. There were one or two occassions where my a-parents asked about me having a girlfriend, but there was never any discussion.
I was a weird, awkward, and socially inexperienced child who turned into a weird, awkward, and socially inexperienced teen, with no guide for human interaction other than television.
At school, I was picked on, made fun of, and bullied. Once a kid asked me, laughing the entire time, "What's wrong with you? Did your dad molest you or something?" I was stunned. I think THAT was the moment I began to learn the extent of other people's cruelty.
I went through a brief stage of bullying, but mostly I was a punching bag for almost everyone in my life. At home, my female cousin bossed me around, when my mom wasn't. My adopted grandmother treated me different than her other grandchildren.
For example, she had a candy shop in her house. All the people in the neighborhood would come and buy candy, soda, chips, pickles. On the weekends, for several years, they even took orders for hamburgers. Well, my cousins would freely take things from the store. When I asked, I had to pay for it. Years later, I would theorize that she was racist and treated me different because she knew I was part white. This was re-enforced by her standard first question when someone shared a story about a person she didn't know; "What color was he/she?"
No matter where I was, I fell short.
When Joe found me and I became acquainted with my bio-family, I felt more disconnected from the family I grew up with and had not connected with my long lost family. I fled Texas.
In essence, I think caused me to become a high-maintanence individual. I don't need material things at all, but it takes a lot for me to feel wanted by people. I often made up ulterior motives for why people invited me somewhere or called me. I think people love me. It's just hard to form the ties that make me feel that they wanted me around.
On the flip side, I have spent SO much time alone in my life that I...well....Let me put it this way; you know how cats can be very affectionate and loving, but once you give them too much loving they either run away from you and hide under the furniture or scratch you? Yeah, that's how I am.
Age is a wonderful thing though. Your insecurities may still be there, but you get to tired to dwell on them. You have less energy to devote to paranoia. I can't wait until I reach the age where I'm sitting in a nursing home, throwing my food, walking around pantless, and basically losing all ability to care what other people think.
As we've covered, my brother and I were left with strangers. There was really no connection. My a-parents (adopted) were recommended to my b-mom (bio-mom) by a friend. Truth be told, a small part of me felt that dis-connect. In addition, I had a much lighter skin tone than everyone else in my family. They were obviously black. I was like a vanilla mocha drink (my friend once called me "Buttered Toast"). You'd think I would question the skin discrepencey, but I assumed it was a genetic fluke or something.
Now, also because my a-parents feared my bio-family kidnapping me and an escaped killer on the loose, I was not allowed out of her sight very often. I was rarely let outside to play in the front yard alone. I eventually quit asking. No friends from school ever came over while she was alive (I was scared and embarrassed of her screaming at me in front of them or putting me down). I never spent the night with anyone other than adopted family. If I did go outside, I had to come in every 10 minutes to let her know I was okay. This is no exaggeration.
My family did not talk about sex...at all...ever. Anything related to sex was not only taboo, but the consequences for saying anything or looking at anything sexual was a good whipping. There were one or two occassions where my a-parents asked about me having a girlfriend, but there was never any discussion.
I was a weird, awkward, and socially inexperienced child who turned into a weird, awkward, and socially inexperienced teen, with no guide for human interaction other than television.
At school, I was picked on, made fun of, and bullied. Once a kid asked me, laughing the entire time, "What's wrong with you? Did your dad molest you or something?" I was stunned. I think THAT was the moment I began to learn the extent of other people's cruelty.
I went through a brief stage of bullying, but mostly I was a punching bag for almost everyone in my life. At home, my female cousin bossed me around, when my mom wasn't. My adopted grandmother treated me different than her other grandchildren.
For example, she had a candy shop in her house. All the people in the neighborhood would come and buy candy, soda, chips, pickles. On the weekends, for several years, they even took orders for hamburgers. Well, my cousins would freely take things from the store. When I asked, I had to pay for it. Years later, I would theorize that she was racist and treated me different because she knew I was part white. This was re-enforced by her standard first question when someone shared a story about a person she didn't know; "What color was he/she?"
No matter where I was, I fell short.
When Joe found me and I became acquainted with my bio-family, I felt more disconnected from the family I grew up with and had not connected with my long lost family. I fled Texas.
In essence, I think caused me to become a high-maintanence individual. I don't need material things at all, but it takes a lot for me to feel wanted by people. I often made up ulterior motives for why people invited me somewhere or called me. I think people love me. It's just hard to form the ties that make me feel that they wanted me around.
On the flip side, I have spent SO much time alone in my life that I...well....Let me put it this way; you know how cats can be very affectionate and loving, but once you give them too much loving they either run away from you and hide under the furniture or scratch you? Yeah, that's how I am.
Age is a wonderful thing though. Your insecurities may still be there, but you get to tired to dwell on them. You have less energy to devote to paranoia. I can't wait until I reach the age where I'm sitting in a nursing home, throwing my food, walking around pantless, and basically losing all ability to care what other people think.
Women in lil brothers life
Being that I love my women I always set myself up for disappointment. I just want to let everyone know how the baby brother feels on this situation. I could really use some feedback on if I am writing about what yall want to hear. Good or bad you know make some comments
When I was 12 or 13 I fell for a gorgeous sister named Allison. Boy did I like her alot. Keep in mind this is way back when BoysIIMen hit the sin with end of the road (was that the good old days or what). Hold on let me sing this song real quick. Ok Some may think this was my first sista but it wasnt. Allison was about 5 foot 3 18 gorgeous and I loved everything about her. One day I had heard a rumor about her seeing someone else. So I confronted her on this and found out it was my big brother ( yes I was mad). We talked for just a little longer then she left fo the army. I still think about her today. I would love to find out how she is doing or something.
It didnt stop me from moving to the next one. My next girl was a girl by the name of Jennifer . Let me tell you we had some fun we dated for 4 and lived together for about 4 -5 years. I really believe that she was my next love of my life. Jennifer and I done alot of things in my life. We did everything (ok not everything) and I sold what I could get my hands on. This is another topic though. Let me specify what exactly I have done before I move on. Mary Jane Acid Speed Coke. I was never strung out. I did not want to be like the rest of my family. One of the memories with Jennifer was when she told me she was pregnant. I was happy yet very very scared. She made the decision to have a abortion. At the end of our final chapter was so weird yet my fault. I know I was done being tied down and was ready to explore more of what was out there.
Christina yeah now this was a relationship that went totally the wrong fucking way. She was my boss at Papa Johns and was had a really nice body who had a bf. She was tired or what not of him I was just trying to forget about Jennifer. We started you know messing around having mad sex every 2 hours. We had some really good sex and alot of it. Once again I messed up and was really joking around and said we should get married. We laughed it off and moved on. Next thing she was like when we getting married blah blah. Let me tell you NO ONE I mean NO ONE liked her cause of her attitude friends family etc. So YES we got married things was fine until that one sunny morning when she came down with her BFF and threw her pergnancy test at me. The only thing that came out her mouth was and I quote "I HOPE YOU ARE FUCKING HAPPY". Yeah that is what the call BI POLAR. And we was offically married for a month and we was never a couple again. Yes we have one more child after that that was birthday sex. Do I regret it no. I have 2 very important kids in my life now and would not want it any other way. Yes I wish we was all together but I can not deal with her. She ruined my love life for 4 years.
Dolores was the next women I fell in love with. She was my everything. I meet her at work she was the new employee. I remember when we first talked she was walking in front of me and all these mexicans was starring at her saying things about her butt so I used my paper or something to cover it up. She was so happy I did that we just hit it off. We exchanged numbers and talked for hours on the phone. Why is it that she ended up having a bf. Yes I know seems like thats a trend girls with men. Well yes she left her man for me and we had some years. I remember her grandmother and mom wanted her to have a child we had talked about it. I was against it for the simple fact I did not want to have kids all over the world and we break up. We was both convinced that we would be together forever so yes I broke down and we had a baby boy and yes another gorgeous kid. We struggled money wise and I made a huge decision to move to Minneapolis MN. Yes I left and took her with me. Keep in mind she is alot younger then me. I dont want to give anyone to much of blogs so I will end this short. We split up a few days before xmas. Yes I was crushed alot. I think money can run a relationship or break it.
I just want to share with everyone that a Man can be hurt just as bad as you can. These are my serious relationships that I have been through. Sorry but this is what I wanted to share with yall. Lil brother is out see you again soon. Stay tuned laterz for my next topic.
When I was 12 or 13 I fell for a gorgeous sister named Allison. Boy did I like her alot. Keep in mind this is way back when BoysIIMen hit the sin with end of the road (was that the good old days or what). Hold on let me sing this song real quick. Ok Some may think this was my first sista but it wasnt. Allison was about 5 foot 3 18 gorgeous and I loved everything about her. One day I had heard a rumor about her seeing someone else. So I confronted her on this and found out it was my big brother ( yes I was mad). We talked for just a little longer then she left fo the army. I still think about her today. I would love to find out how she is doing or something.
It didnt stop me from moving to the next one. My next girl was a girl by the name of Jennifer . Let me tell you we had some fun we dated for 4 and lived together for about 4 -5 years. I really believe that she was my next love of my life. Jennifer and I done alot of things in my life. We did everything (ok not everything) and I sold what I could get my hands on. This is another topic though. Let me specify what exactly I have done before I move on. Mary Jane Acid Speed Coke. I was never strung out. I did not want to be like the rest of my family. One of the memories with Jennifer was when she told me she was pregnant. I was happy yet very very scared. She made the decision to have a abortion. At the end of our final chapter was so weird yet my fault. I know I was done being tied down and was ready to explore more of what was out there.
Christina yeah now this was a relationship that went totally the wrong fucking way. She was my boss at Papa Johns and was had a really nice body who had a bf. She was tired or what not of him I was just trying to forget about Jennifer. We started you know messing around having mad sex every 2 hours. We had some really good sex and alot of it. Once again I messed up and was really joking around and said we should get married. We laughed it off and moved on. Next thing she was like when we getting married blah blah. Let me tell you NO ONE I mean NO ONE liked her cause of her attitude friends family etc. So YES we got married things was fine until that one sunny morning when she came down with her BFF and threw her pergnancy test at me. The only thing that came out her mouth was and I quote "I HOPE YOU ARE FUCKING HAPPY". Yeah that is what the call BI POLAR. And we was offically married for a month and we was never a couple again. Yes we have one more child after that that was birthday sex. Do I regret it no. I have 2 very important kids in my life now and would not want it any other way. Yes I wish we was all together but I can not deal with her. She ruined my love life for 4 years.
Dolores was the next women I fell in love with. She was my everything. I meet her at work she was the new employee. I remember when we first talked she was walking in front of me and all these mexicans was starring at her saying things about her butt so I used my paper or something to cover it up. She was so happy I did that we just hit it off. We exchanged numbers and talked for hours on the phone. Why is it that she ended up having a bf. Yes I know seems like thats a trend girls with men. Well yes she left her man for me and we had some years. I remember her grandmother and mom wanted her to have a child we had talked about it. I was against it for the simple fact I did not want to have kids all over the world and we break up. We was both convinced that we would be together forever so yes I broke down and we had a baby boy and yes another gorgeous kid. We struggled money wise and I made a huge decision to move to Minneapolis MN. Yes I left and took her with me. Keep in mind she is alot younger then me. I dont want to give anyone to much of blogs so I will end this short. We split up a few days before xmas. Yes I was crushed alot. I think money can run a relationship or break it.
I just want to share with everyone that a Man can be hurt just as bad as you can. These are my serious relationships that I have been through. Sorry but this is what I wanted to share with yall. Lil brother is out see you again soon. Stay tuned laterz for my next topic.
06 February 2011
Lula Lee
No matter what takes place in the real world, personalities begin to form from what happens at home.
The following is while I was still under the identity of "Billy" before the truth came out about my history;
When I read What's Eating Gilbert Grape? in high school, I cried. The mom in that book made me think of my a-mom. While no one ever said anything to me about my a-mom, somewhere deep down I knew people probably had commented on her weight. This liberty was extended by the fact that she was practically a "shut-in" by the time she died. The city of Teague saw less and less of her.
My life as "Lil' Billy" was deeply controlled by everything and everyone around me. Mom controlled what I said and where I said it, where I was, who I was. Outside of home, people's opinions of me and my fears controlled me.
But this isn't really about me, but more about my adopted mother, Lula Lee (also known as "Aunt Ray"). She was married to my adopted father for my entire life. I believe that she had tried to have a child, but was unable to concieve. Probably explains why she would be so willing to take in two children who were marked as targets for a murderer.
She was old-school, small-town...I was not allowed to be outside alone almost up until she died. I have no doubt that she wanted me safe. I imagine she made a promise to my bio-mom and aimed to keep it. I have no memories of her breaking promises.
She could be hysterically funny, with a loud and infectuous laugh. She could also be a tyrant and at times cruel. One of the things I hated about her funeral was everyone talking about her like she was Mother Theresa. She was a wonderful woman, but her foul language and bossy demeanor were part of who she was (and often made for some funny stories). When I die, I want to be remembered for the good and the bad.
Anyway, one of my earliest memories of her was after I had come back from the store. My brother Willie (or maybe it was my adopted dad, Billy Sr.) had bought me a rubber snake. I thought it would be funny to leave it on the floor by my parents' bedroom. Fake snakes + a drama queen mother = fun for all...Right?...Right? Mom saw that thing sitting there and let out a ear-splitting cry. She yelled and yelled, while I laughed and laughed. My hope was that after the screaming, she would join me in a chuckle. That moment never came.
Instead, she cussed a lot and took a knife to the rubber snake. Poor little thing.
She LOVED Christmas. She went all out. We easily had the brightest and most complex light decor in the neighborhood. Every year I think we just added more lights. It always involved a-dad getting on the roof and affixing this HUGE cross to the top of our house. And the tree was always surrounded by more gifts than I ever deserved...It's like she was getting enough for two children. I can only guess that in her heart, she was. My mom showed love in many different ways, but none more than spending money and hugs. :)
Our family was comfortable, financially speaking...when I was a child. As I got older, everyone seemed to have less and less. As I hear it, my family was big on lending money to others...but those others were not as keen on giving it back.
I think that bothered mom. When we started heading towards a more meager means of living, we had to go on welfare. I recall one occassion of going to the welfare office with her and she was decked out as nice as she could be. She wore her nice costume jewelry, hair perfect, clothes nice...I always thought she dressed more like she OWNED the welfare office more than coming to ask for help.
It seemed like she was always screaming at me, like a siren warning of the storm that was her almost non-existent patience. Even at a younger age I knew there was something wrong with her method. She was always yelling and screaming about something, to the point where I got so nervous. But I was not allowed to really say anything back or deal with those nerves in an outward way. The few times I tried to tell her how I felt, she disregarded me. So how did I cope? I developed a nasty habit of biting the skin off of my knuckles...often until they bled. It was my way of screaming or punching. As an adult, I don't understand how we as adults don't like to be screamed at...we get frustrated and have our limits that we let people hit and yell at us, but we expect our children to be able to take it.
Anyway, the yelling was far more troublesome than the "whippings". The whippings were usually with small tree limbs we called "switches". They hurt like hell and left welts wherever they made contact. I also got hit with fly swatters, a couple of times with her wooden walking stick, her hand, etc. It got to where I couldn't tell the difference between a mistake and me actually misbehaving because they all warranted a whipping.
Looking back, it wasn't so much that I got whippings, it was just that the event itself was so traumatic. What doesn't work well with a frustrated passive kid with nervous issues from all the screaming? More screaming combined with "whippings" that made random contact on my body. After a minute or so, she would start shouting "Stop crying!" while she was hitting me. I assumed it was a way of life...and for some cultures here, it is. I don't think I learned anything from those...they just made me more nervous, made me lie to her about things I had done wrong out of fear of those spankings, made me unable to think clearly. It really wasn't until I became an adult and started working with kids that I found out how all of this affected me.
Again, this blog isn't really about me. My mother was old-school. She was strict. She cared what others thought of her. She often acted out of love, but as I got older she acted out of frustration, pain, and exhaustion.
But I stress again, she was a wonderful woman. Why? Well, here is a direct lift from a diary that she started (I have fixed spelling errors so it will read easier);
"Feb 1, 1992
Already I have mis Jan. ; and you know, that month of Jan. is a important month. My young son Birthday month Jan:12 - was 15 yr old. Now Feb 19 is important too. You see that is the month of my first born. My older son this Feb 19 - he will be 30 yr old.
I thank God for my 2 boys. You see, diary, they have given me so much joy. Now sometime they make me sad, but that is to be expected, you know.
Well, as of now I am doing fairly well. Some time ago I had a run in with the young one; but the house is quiet right now. You see I have it all on my shoulders. I have to be Dad and mom when it comes to my children and everything else. Some time ago it was much easier because my health was better and there was more love in my home;"
I guess my reason for putting that here is to remind myself and share with you that my mother may not have done everything right, but she did the most important things right; she loved us. Sometimes we don't realize how difficult our parents' jobs really are.
I may post more from her diary. It speaks more than I ever could.
She was my mom. I loved her very much.
The following is while I was still under the identity of "Billy" before the truth came out about my history;
When I read What's Eating Gilbert Grape? in high school, I cried. The mom in that book made me think of my a-mom. While no one ever said anything to me about my a-mom, somewhere deep down I knew people probably had commented on her weight. This liberty was extended by the fact that she was practically a "shut-in" by the time she died. The city of Teague saw less and less of her.
My life as "Lil' Billy" was deeply controlled by everything and everyone around me. Mom controlled what I said and where I said it, where I was, who I was. Outside of home, people's opinions of me and my fears controlled me.
But this isn't really about me, but more about my adopted mother, Lula Lee (also known as "Aunt Ray"). She was married to my adopted father for my entire life. I believe that she had tried to have a child, but was unable to concieve. Probably explains why she would be so willing to take in two children who were marked as targets for a murderer.
She was old-school, small-town...I was not allowed to be outside alone almost up until she died. I have no doubt that she wanted me safe. I imagine she made a promise to my bio-mom and aimed to keep it. I have no memories of her breaking promises.
She could be hysterically funny, with a loud and infectuous laugh. She could also be a tyrant and at times cruel. One of the things I hated about her funeral was everyone talking about her like she was Mother Theresa. She was a wonderful woman, but her foul language and bossy demeanor were part of who she was (and often made for some funny stories). When I die, I want to be remembered for the good and the bad.
Anyway, one of my earliest memories of her was after I had come back from the store. My brother Willie (or maybe it was my adopted dad, Billy Sr.) had bought me a rubber snake. I thought it would be funny to leave it on the floor by my parents' bedroom. Fake snakes + a drama queen mother = fun for all...Right?...Right? Mom saw that thing sitting there and let out a ear-splitting cry. She yelled and yelled, while I laughed and laughed. My hope was that after the screaming, she would join me in a chuckle. That moment never came.
Instead, she cussed a lot and took a knife to the rubber snake. Poor little thing.
She LOVED Christmas. She went all out. We easily had the brightest and most complex light decor in the neighborhood. Every year I think we just added more lights. It always involved a-dad getting on the roof and affixing this HUGE cross to the top of our house. And the tree was always surrounded by more gifts than I ever deserved...It's like she was getting enough for two children. I can only guess that in her heart, she was. My mom showed love in many different ways, but none more than spending money and hugs. :)
Our family was comfortable, financially speaking...when I was a child. As I got older, everyone seemed to have less and less. As I hear it, my family was big on lending money to others...but those others were not as keen on giving it back.
I think that bothered mom. When we started heading towards a more meager means of living, we had to go on welfare. I recall one occassion of going to the welfare office with her and she was decked out as nice as she could be. She wore her nice costume jewelry, hair perfect, clothes nice...I always thought she dressed more like she OWNED the welfare office more than coming to ask for help.
It seemed like she was always screaming at me, like a siren warning of the storm that was her almost non-existent patience. Even at a younger age I knew there was something wrong with her method. She was always yelling and screaming about something, to the point where I got so nervous. But I was not allowed to really say anything back or deal with those nerves in an outward way. The few times I tried to tell her how I felt, she disregarded me. So how did I cope? I developed a nasty habit of biting the skin off of my knuckles...often until they bled. It was my way of screaming or punching. As an adult, I don't understand how we as adults don't like to be screamed at...we get frustrated and have our limits that we let people hit and yell at us, but we expect our children to be able to take it.
Anyway, the yelling was far more troublesome than the "whippings". The whippings were usually with small tree limbs we called "switches". They hurt like hell and left welts wherever they made contact. I also got hit with fly swatters, a couple of times with her wooden walking stick, her hand, etc. It got to where I couldn't tell the difference between a mistake and me actually misbehaving because they all warranted a whipping.
Looking back, it wasn't so much that I got whippings, it was just that the event itself was so traumatic. What doesn't work well with a frustrated passive kid with nervous issues from all the screaming? More screaming combined with "whippings" that made random contact on my body. After a minute or so, she would start shouting "Stop crying!" while she was hitting me. I assumed it was a way of life...and for some cultures here, it is. I don't think I learned anything from those...they just made me more nervous, made me lie to her about things I had done wrong out of fear of those spankings, made me unable to think clearly. It really wasn't until I became an adult and started working with kids that I found out how all of this affected me.
Again, this blog isn't really about me. My mother was old-school. She was strict. She cared what others thought of her. She often acted out of love, but as I got older she acted out of frustration, pain, and exhaustion.
But I stress again, she was a wonderful woman. Why? Well, here is a direct lift from a diary that she started (I have fixed spelling errors so it will read easier);
"Feb 1, 1992
Already I have mis Jan. ; and you know, that month of Jan. is a important month. My young son Birthday month Jan:12 - was 15 yr old. Now Feb 19 is important too. You see that is the month of my first born. My older son this Feb 19 - he will be 30 yr old.
I thank God for my 2 boys. You see, diary, they have given me so much joy. Now sometime they make me sad, but that is to be expected, you know.
Well, as of now I am doing fairly well. Some time ago I had a run in with the young one; but the house is quiet right now. You see I have it all on my shoulders. I have to be Dad and mom when it comes to my children and everything else. Some time ago it was much easier because my health was better and there was more love in my home;"
I guess my reason for putting that here is to remind myself and share with you that my mother may not have done everything right, but she did the most important things right; she loved us. Sometimes we don't realize how difficult our parents' jobs really are.
I may post more from her diary. It speaks more than I ever could.
She was my mom. I loved her very much.
03 February 2011
I Was Not Meant For This World
At the start, we live the life that was chosen for us. In the end, we live the life we choose for ourselves. It was the transition that proved to be most difficult...and the most crucial.
I was told that my b-grandmother discussed aborting me with my b-mom. Obviously, my b-mom decided to have me. This would be the first of many dances I shared with death, without going home with it.
Around the age of five, I was standing in the kitchen searching the freezer for a pop sicle. I had a stellar little afro, huge curls and shaped to perfection. A-mom took great pride in my hair. My a-mom was cooking supper. My father? He was sitting in the next room on the sofa, cleaning a shotgun.
A-mom yelled at me for standing with the freezer door open. I turned and looked at her. There was a huge *BANG* that rocked everyone's nerves...except mine. Purely by accident, the gun had gone off and sent a bullet blasting through the wall, where I stood on the other side. Not even an inch away from my head was the hole the bullet left behind. My a-mom was terrified and furious. I imagine my dad was served a healthy helping of cuss words.
Well before the age of ten, my family installed one of those enourmous above-ground pools. I had no idea how to swim, but my a-brother, Willie, was watching me as I kicked around on a small floatation device. For whatever reason, Willie left me for a few minutes. Of course, that was the moment I slipped off the "floaty" and sank like a rock. I thrashed around for a bit, starting to panic. I held my breath as long as I could, then just as I swallowed a bit of water, Willie returned and pulled me out.
Of course, all this time there was also the bastard that running lose that had threatened to kill me and my b-family. But as you've read, I didn't know anything about this.
There was the time I got covered in fire ants and went into shock. All I really recall of that moment was being rushed to the hospital where I was covered in ice-cold towels. I can't forget the time my house caught on fire while everyone was asleep, the time my first apartment in Tulsa caught fire, the numerous times I tried to commit suicide, the racist rednecks in my hometown that threatened to run me and my friends over, getting stranded in 100 degree weather out in the middle of nowhere...It just keeps going.
At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I've rarely felt like I belong here. When I was very young, I would catch bits of news or hear of something horrible and my heart would break. As I got older, I could not understand or accept how cruel people were to each other. I was just as baffled at how people took care of themselves. I worked so hard at trying to do the right things, caring about people...The real world did not function that way. Now, everyone can say that, I'm sure. However, I could not ignore or allow the wrongs of the world to become natural to me. I felt...alien.
This is all before Joe even came into my life. Still, I went about life with this outrageous sense of humor. I went through a few years of bullying kids that I thought were weaker than me. I was cruel to them. By seventh grade, my obnoxious, wild, funny side was reaching a peak. I tortured people with comments and actions that I hate to admit to.
Oddly, I remember the moment. I was sitting in science class, looking at a projected image of the human anatomy, which made me think of one of my teachers. Then, like Mike Tyson punching me in the chest, I was struck with this feeling of pain and depression. I stopped talking, stopped joking, stopped bullying. At the end of my junior year, I wrote several letters of apology and gave them to a few of the peers I had been most cruel to. I changed like a switch being flipped right there in class, staring at that projector screen.
Nothing had happened in my life at that point. I have no idea where that came from, but between all the near death experiences, my inability to cope with the awful things people do to each other without remorse, all the mistakes I have made, and the tragedies that have piled up in my life...I begin to think...I was not meant for this world. I am a mistake.
I've spent my entire life struggling with the values I placed on myself, values I expected and tried to force on others and on this never-ending fight to "perfect" the world as I thought it needed to be. I couldn't find a place that I belonged, so I tried to create the "perfect" world...but that will NEVER happen.
Why do I keep going? Why am I still here? Because of that AA prayer about having the strength to change what I need to, the ability to accept things I cannot change, and wisdom to know the difference. Maybe I don't belong here, but while I'm here I have found people and things that I can help. So, I keep trying different philosophies for living and recently adopted this one; Stop trying to fight the entire world. Stop trying to save the entire world. Just live in it and try to make it as good as possible for the people I love...for as long as we are all here. Cheesy, but true.
I was told that my b-grandmother discussed aborting me with my b-mom. Obviously, my b-mom decided to have me. This would be the first of many dances I shared with death, without going home with it.
Around the age of five, I was standing in the kitchen searching the freezer for a pop sicle. I had a stellar little afro, huge curls and shaped to perfection. A-mom took great pride in my hair. My a-mom was cooking supper. My father? He was sitting in the next room on the sofa, cleaning a shotgun.
A-mom yelled at me for standing with the freezer door open. I turned and looked at her. There was a huge *BANG* that rocked everyone's nerves...except mine. Purely by accident, the gun had gone off and sent a bullet blasting through the wall, where I stood on the other side. Not even an inch away from my head was the hole the bullet left behind. My a-mom was terrified and furious. I imagine my dad was served a healthy helping of cuss words.
Well before the age of ten, my family installed one of those enourmous above-ground pools. I had no idea how to swim, but my a-brother, Willie, was watching me as I kicked around on a small floatation device. For whatever reason, Willie left me for a few minutes. Of course, that was the moment I slipped off the "floaty" and sank like a rock. I thrashed around for a bit, starting to panic. I held my breath as long as I could, then just as I swallowed a bit of water, Willie returned and pulled me out.
Of course, all this time there was also the bastard that running lose that had threatened to kill me and my b-family. But as you've read, I didn't know anything about this.
There was the time I got covered in fire ants and went into shock. All I really recall of that moment was being rushed to the hospital where I was covered in ice-cold towels. I can't forget the time my house caught on fire while everyone was asleep, the time my first apartment in Tulsa caught fire, the numerous times I tried to commit suicide, the racist rednecks in my hometown that threatened to run me and my friends over, getting stranded in 100 degree weather out in the middle of nowhere...It just keeps going.
At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I've rarely felt like I belong here. When I was very young, I would catch bits of news or hear of something horrible and my heart would break. As I got older, I could not understand or accept how cruel people were to each other. I was just as baffled at how people took care of themselves. I worked so hard at trying to do the right things, caring about people...The real world did not function that way. Now, everyone can say that, I'm sure. However, I could not ignore or allow the wrongs of the world to become natural to me. I felt...alien.
This is all before Joe even came into my life. Still, I went about life with this outrageous sense of humor. I went through a few years of bullying kids that I thought were weaker than me. I was cruel to them. By seventh grade, my obnoxious, wild, funny side was reaching a peak. I tortured people with comments and actions that I hate to admit to.
Oddly, I remember the moment. I was sitting in science class, looking at a projected image of the human anatomy, which made me think of one of my teachers. Then, like Mike Tyson punching me in the chest, I was struck with this feeling of pain and depression. I stopped talking, stopped joking, stopped bullying. At the end of my junior year, I wrote several letters of apology and gave them to a few of the peers I had been most cruel to. I changed like a switch being flipped right there in class, staring at that projector screen.
Nothing had happened in my life at that point. I have no idea where that came from, but between all the near death experiences, my inability to cope with the awful things people do to each other without remorse, all the mistakes I have made, and the tragedies that have piled up in my life...I begin to think...I was not meant for this world. I am a mistake.
I've spent my entire life struggling with the values I placed on myself, values I expected and tried to force on others and on this never-ending fight to "perfect" the world as I thought it needed to be. I couldn't find a place that I belonged, so I tried to create the "perfect" world...but that will NEVER happen.
Why do I keep going? Why am I still here? Because of that AA prayer about having the strength to change what I need to, the ability to accept things I cannot change, and wisdom to know the difference. Maybe I don't belong here, but while I'm here I have found people and things that I can help. So, I keep trying different philosophies for living and recently adopted this one; Stop trying to fight the entire world. Stop trying to save the entire world. Just live in it and try to make it as good as possible for the people I love...for as long as we are all here. Cheesy, but true.
SITTERS
My purpose in this tell all blog, is so that after I give those that know me an inside look at me, I can get them to understand how I think. That way they will be just as lost as I am. Not really, I just want someone out there to hopefully see that maybe I can relate to some of the hardships that others have endured. Everyone has good and bad times in your life. Sometimes it's good to know that somebody can relate.
Being a single parent is hard…. I would imagine. So being a father and a single parent is impossible. As a kid you would never hear me say anything like that. Four kids later, it's a different story. Of course my dad had custody of me shortly before my mom was killed. So after her death, he was really stuck with me. I give honor to my father. He showed me the prime example of how to provide for a child. He worked long hours, and I imagine went without many nights just to make sure I had it. And I can tell you now that I always had a roof over my head. I never went without a meal. And I always had clean clothes on my back. Plus toys every Christmas. He did what he had to for his child. My mom, from what I was told, played me and even sold her body to provide the same things for us growing up. That's how I learned at a young age not to judge people. We are who we are.
At first my dad would leave me at home alone in this one bedroom apartment in north Dallas while he went to work. You see he drove the city bus, and worked there my whole life. He was the opposite of my mom. They were like night and day. He was always laid back, conservative, stable, and humble. She on the other hand was all the opposite. She could never stay still in one spot, wild, spontaneous. He was about having a family. She was about running the streets. He was black. She was white. How that relationship went past the first day was a miracle. But it did, and to make it worse, they had a kid together. So back to this 6 year old kid in this one bedroom apartment. It gave me a sense of independence. It would be a lie to sit and tell you that at that age I was not scared. I was, but not all the time. It was really not all that bad. I guess I was a normal kid. I talked to my toys, played school with my bears; Raggedy Ann was my second kiss. (And hunch). I mean I was far from lonely, so I was cool with it. And being that he drove the city bus, there was no way to check on me, plus back then cell phones were, well….. It was back in the day. Well from what I can remember, I must have started to venture outside a few times while he was at work, because the next thing I know I'm going to stay with this other lady and her kids. This lady had five kids, four stayed with her. One girl and three boys. I was in the second or third grade. One son was in about the fourth or fifth grade, one son was in junior high. And the other son and daughter were in high school. I stayed here throughout the school year, and my dad would come pick me up most weekends. It was a two bedroom apartment in the hood, what most people called a bad part of Oak Cliff. But black people living in the same situation, had more love for each other back then. So it was only bad to those who did not live there. This lady and her kids took me in, but not with love. Not even pity. Sometimes it was almost like I was entertainment. We all had chores to do. And these chores were to be done by the time the mom gets home from work. She drove the city bus also, must be where my dad met her. Well of course, me being the youngest. I was taken advantage of. So guess who was ordered to do everyone's chores? I remember times I refused. The two youngest boys would take neck ties and tie my arms and legs to the bunk bed and beat me with a belt. Or if for some reason they got in trouble for something, I knew the next day they would take their frustrations out on me the next day by tying me to the bunk bed. One day the youngest got in trouble at school and the night before his mom beat the hell out of him, I loved it. So the next day, I was always the first to make it home from school. By the time he got home I had already tied most of myself to the bed so we can get it over with. (Hell I was used to it by then, plus I had a lot of damn chores to do). The daughter knew, and she always acted concerned, but never made an attempt to stop any of them. Not like she was afraid or anything because she was a tom boy and rough as hell, she just did nothing, for whatever reason. Yea some pretty rough shit went on in that house. I remember one weekend my dad came to get me. When he brought me back we sat in the car in the parking lot, and I tried to tell him most of the things that was going on in that house. He just looked at me without saying a simple word, and walked me right upstairs to that same apartment. Yea must have been hard being a single parent. They had a grandmother that was mean as hell. For some reason I would always stare at her. And every time she sees me doing that, she would pop me in my damn mouth. Well it got so bad that if I even just glance at her, she would pop me in my mouth. Shit I got popped so damn much I couldn't even tell you what she looked like. My dad would leave a certain amount of money for my school lunch each week. The family and a few friends played a card game called tonk almost every night, and they played for money. Most times a quarter a hand. This is when I learned how to gamble. At first they made me learn the game by making me gamble my lunch money. Funny how fast you learn the game after you miss enough meals at school. Fuck you, after about a week or two I learned how to win. I ate good at school many of days.
I don't remember how or when or why I left. All I know is I went from that household to another lady's house, and she too had four kids. Ironic. But everything in my life is good and bad black and white, like those two poodles. The first family was the black poodle. This one was the white one. This lady was a Christian lady, never cursed. We went to church every Sunday. I remember I was in the 5th grade. She had a set of twins in the 6th grade, a boy and a girl. Then she had another daughter, she was about in the 8th or 9th grade. And a son who I think was a senior. Like I said, we went to church every Sunday, and prayed every morning before we went to school. I even got baptized. This was the perfect family, at least compared to where I came from. We had two dogs in the back yard. The boys slept in one room, and the girls slept in another room. We lived in an old fashioned neiborhood. You know, one where if you do something wrong, Mrs. Jackson up the street sees you, and whoops your ass. Then tells your mom so she can whoop your ass. The oldest son had a friend a couple of houses down that hardly ever used the front door; he would always come to our bedroom window. This is where I met my first love, Penny. Oh my god she was the most beautiful thing in the world…. At that time. (From what I hear now, she caught some STD that she can't get rid of). But back then, she was like a piece of heaven. Like I said my dad always provided. So I got $2 for my school lunch each day. But what I didn't tell my dad is that like the other kids that I lived in the house with, I qualified for free lunch. So I had an extra $2 to blow every day. Shit that's ballin in the 5th grade. Anyway, at that age, I had not yet learned the skill of being a Mack. So I had to come up with some idea to get this girl's attention. Back then the teacher would take the attendance and then she would walk it up to the front office. This would give me about 15 minutes to make my move. So for about 2 weeks straight. I would wait until the teacher would take the roll up to the front office. Then all the kids would go to the back of the class room and then I would through a quarter at a time in the air and the kids would fight over them until I threw my whole $2. I did this thinking that this would impress her. Wrong, every day for two weeks she and her best friend would just sit at the table, no moved at all by my stupidity. After that did not work. I got the cassette tape, Lionel Richie, and I played the song, "Penny Lover" over and over, until I could copy each word down on paper. Then I signed it, "from your secret admirer". And I placed it in her mail box…….Your waiting for the happy ending? Shit me too. Man I never said a word to her. Good thing I guess, I hate taking medicine. Anyway, I loved my life then. It was good, and simple. I went to school. I came home, did my homework then watched cartoons. I went outside and rode my bike with my friends. We ate dinner together. We talked and worked out our problems. Then in the middle of the night, the teenage girl comes and wakes me up, and tells me to come in the bathroom with her. Then she… well let's just say she taught me everything I needed to know. This went on for a long time. Sometimes in the middle of the night. Sometimes if the mom was gone and everyone else was outside. Just whenever we could get away with it. Then one night she wanted to do it in her room in the bed. And her mom walks in and catches us. Now this is a die hard, Christian woman, who sleeps with her Bible. That night she did everything but gave us an exorcism. She cried for days after that. From that point, everything changed. It all just felt different. Then one day during a cold winter, the oldest son went to the back yard to check on the two dogs that had been out in the snow. He came back and said that he found one of the dogs dead in the snow. The mom assumed that I had done it. Made a big deal out of it. I mean she never just flat out accused me; she just did it in a round-about-way. I guess she felt if I was mean enough to molest her daughter, then I'm mean enough to kill their dog. Hell after she caught us, we never sat down and talked about who was molesting who. She just swept it under the rug. I later realized that she in fact didn't sweep it under the rug. She just waited for the right opportunity to separate two bad ass kids from each other. Hard as hell being a single parent. But yet the best memories of my life happened at that house. You have good and bad no matter where you go. You just have to roll with the punches. Going through this, you have to ask yourself, how does one maintain his sanity? The worst thing you can do is let your emotions control you. It's your worst enemy. If you control your emotions then you keep your sanity. Something tragic happens in your life, your emotions cause you to get sad or angry, which leads to losing your sanity. From there you make stupid, irrational decisions. How can that help you? The same woman that gave birth to me gave up her life for me. How I see it, the worst thing that could ever possibly happen to me, did. So everything else that comes my way is manageable.
-Jboogie
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