I am still here.... but somehow I am not really.

I feel bored with myself lately and I miss the old psycho me. Not the crying-for-days-without-stopping one, but the manic highs I guess you could say.

 No one told me that the meds would take away the good crazy too. Not sure it is worth it. What am I saying? I know it is worth it, because he is worth it - my Gabriel...my world. What a hypocrite I am, always encouraging others to do the work for themselves, and I never did. Never even considered therapy until my child came into my life and I began to obsess over what my insanity would bestow upon him emotionally.

 My entire life is a catch 22.... I try to numb myself sane for my son, and the numbness is driving me mad...I always told myself I'd be everything that my parents weren't to me, and I am - but I am the only thing my child has because of my poor decision making abilities and former sexual habits.

 SEX. Man, I miss that. I miss the simple idea of that. Another bad decision, the man I was in love with tells me he has a non-curable STD and this is why he had not been intimate in years. Was so insecure about himself sexually, I encourage him to be with me, made a decision that if I got it too, I would be okay with that because I was never going to leave him. Started back on birth control, not soon enough - lose a baby, contract the std - and a month later? He leaves me.

 Now it is me that will never be with anyone. No one ever found a reason to stay with me when I was not tainted, so why the hell would I bother now?

Another disappointment, no siblings from me for you Gabe. Good thing your daddy is generous enough with his sperm....you will always have your big sister and your little brother. God, I hope the two of you will be close. I have no idea how to make you believe it is not your fault that he doesn't want to be in your life. But....maybe your little brother will- he is in the same boat as you.

 CATCH 22. My exterior is hard and cold, and I can be the perfect BI**H if I want. I can be witty and dryly sarcastic until people want to befriend me...well, not really - they just don't want me to be on my bad side. But that isn't really me, I don't even have a bad side. And I am not hard and cold - I am all warm and gooey, a complete and utter MESS. Having enemies on purpose is too exhausting for me, I have enough without trying. I don't care if anyone likes me, or not - but I want to. I want to want friends and a lover and even a marriage and family again. Hope is lost.

 All the time I spent thinking about the perfect mother I would make myself become for my son when he was in my stomach....but the first man that comes along that seemed different, and passionate and into me - that I could talk to about anything for hours and hours came along and I was pawning my little guy off on the babysitter every weekend, inviting the man into our life, our home, sharing holidays and special moments. He didn't even have to steal my time from my precious babe....that is the sad part......I gave it. Willingly. He didn't ask me to leave Gabe at a sitter's so I could play single dating game with him....I chose to.

 That hurts. I wonder what changed me, from the mother that would not let my child out of my sight, no one could feed him candy or smoke around him, no one could keep him overnight, no one could have him when I was not at work ..... to the mother that pays a 19 year old that swears and watches BET with the kids to keep my son all weekend, every weekend for months?????

What a little heartless slut I turned out to be. The man didn't even call me his girl, said he was not ready for a relationship. Gave him one anyway, I thought I could convince him otherwise - almost did, I think....until I let my crazy seep out a little here and there, got tired of pretending that pretending was ok with me.

Turned out to be just like the part of my father I resented most, my mother too. Thinking your seed is disposable when the hope of love presents itself. My mom did it....didn't want me anyway. She is still a child. Even now. I assume, haven't spoken in 8 years. She got rid of me - gave her to my dad and his mom, just take her. She wouldn't pick me up. I drank P.J. in my bottle at a few months old, that was the most fun I was to her....made me sleep- I imagine.

Then there's dad....didn't want to upset his wife by telling her to go easy on me so he let her hit me...told us to leave him out of it - like we were sisters. As long as we weren't infront of the TV, he didn't care about my bruises. He was hard on my little brother because she was hard on me. Like it was payback to be strict with their son, because she was with his daughter. Guess it was payback, but she just hit me harder.

He would have never left her over me....I wonder if she would have killed me like I asked her to do ....maybe not even then. But he left when she was spending his money without telling him, long after I had decided once meeting my alcoholic mom who cared less what I did was better to live with than my sober step mom who smacked me bacause my dad was drinking and well, because -as she told me when I was 7 - she was jealous of me because he loved me more than her.

Everyone has something they just won't stand for - guess his is stealing his money - not his daughter's childhood. I still love you daddy, but I am not sure I can ever respect you again. Still not sure about you mother, or Beth - as I have so affectionately called you for years. Sometimes, I think I will write and tell you I have a son....for his sake since he has no family...and then I remember how you were when you were drunk and high. I may be a heartless slut of a mom, but I still have to protect him....he has no room for more crazy on his plate beside mine.

I am not sure where I am really going with all this, it has been a while since I have blogged, and I just felt like writing. Catch 22 about writing is....when you write from your pain, you have to be hurting to write....or allow yourself to feel it so it can come out through your fingers. I often stay away from letting it out these days, so as to not open the flood gates that I cannot put back up. I miss writing, does that mean I miss hurting? Wouldn't doubt it, the drama queen that I am....doesn't feel normal to me if it doesn't hurt.

God help my son.

Tags: Reflective