Dirty Laundry Blog: 7/14/2015 PANIC AND DOOM

What happens to people when nothing is valued or earned? When everything becomes materialistic and disposable? How do we convey the satisfaction of working toward something to entitled children who only demand more?

What about when we aren't perfect, when we're tired, when we've worked our fingers to the bone for 30 plus years and don't have a damn thing to show for it? We've lost it all once, twice, or so many times we can't remember... but we're still drawing a breath so we ought to be grateful?

What do we do when we can go no further? When every fiber of our being screams for us to stop? When we can't endure another rant, whimper, vent, whine, bitch, moan, grown, tantrum, crisis or teardrop? When we realize nobody is interested in listening to our shit? When we wake up to the reality that it's everyone for themselves, and we've given everything we had so freely?

What do we have when we learn that love is a lie? When our self esteem is mutilated by the toxic bastards who gave us life? When we treat our partners like hostages? When we trade secrets on how to take without giving? When we pride ourselves on coming out on top and it means leaving another human being face down in our wake?

What does it mean when we cry for no reason? When we find pleasure in unpleasant thoughts? When we just can't do the every day tasks that we're supposed to do? When routine becomes such a fucking grueling chore that we would rather jump off a building and call it a day?

What do we do as people whose employers keep demanding more and we've got nothing left to give? When our souls are bought and sold and traded on the open market for their profit? When physical labor and skilled trades were once the bedrock of our civilization, now looked down upon like peasantry from the eyes of a prince?

What do we do when we've been to hell and back during life? When we've made amends and apologies? When we've learned to forgive and to live better and to lead others by positive example? When we can barely hold onto what little hope we have left? When our own simple ideology has no place in the prison-like world we've been sentenced to? When our recipe for happiness is ruined by the vile mephitis of decay? When we force ourselves to deny what we know in our hearts is true?

The grim fact that a foul stench is all that remains of a culture's morality.

What the fuck do we do?

Historically Hindered: The Roles Will Eventually Roll, Full Circle

Let me be the first to admit that I was a spoiled, selfish, materialistic, child.

Was I born that way? NO. 

Did society help mold me? YES. 

Did my parents help enable that to happen? YES.

Did they do the best they could with what they had given the circumstances? YES.

Kids growing up a decade before me, and a decade after me appear to be at different ends of this spectrum. It's as if no parent knows how to relate to their own child today, because each generation is technologically advanced 10x over the last. For example: My parents didn't have color TV or Cable, so they couldn't relate to my addiction to shows. I didn't have internet or life-like video games, so I can't relate to my child's addiction to electronics. 

The word, "addiction" may appear to be used loosely in this case. However, in my recovery I have learned about how unmanageable my life became because of my addiction, and the loss of values that came with defending my right to have my vice. If a child isn't doing his homework or chores, if he is not eating, sleeping, bathing, or going to school, but rather playing online or gaming until all hours of the night... If he is lying about the amount of time he is engaged... If he is becoming combative when confronted, or physically aggressive when his "toys" are taken away... If his life is completely unmanageable due to the use and abuse of technology... Your child may be addicted. 

When I was a kid my parents had one TV in the whole house, we didn't even have cable until I was 14. However, even then I wasn't allowed to sit and watch TV, my parents had control. Kids today have smart phones, MP-3 players, e-readers, tablets, handheld video games, and portable DVD players. When I was a kid, no TV for a week was not a punishment, it was a way to get more into something else for a week, I was still allowed to listen to music on my stereo (the walk-man came later). Today, no gadgets for a week is next to impossible. The parents' frustration is mounting, yet excuses are ridiculous, "He needs it for school... I can't take his phone away, how will he reach me... I don't want him to feel like he doesn't have the things all the other kids have". Would we be saying the same thing if all the kids had crack pipes or syringes and the drugs to put in them? Of course not. But since I am the once active drug addict who became an adult with no life skills, and feeling like I was a decade behind my classmates... I believe I am qualified to recognize the ways my addiction will manifest in whatever behavior it can based on what is at my disposal. 

Does that mean all video game addicted kids will become crackheads? No, BUT if you anger one enough by taking away his toys, he may act out and if the wrong people are outside when he does, anything is possible. 

So why not home school our kids and keep them close to us at all times? That is how some choose to handle things, however are they gaining any life skills that way?

As a parent, I feel a moral obligation to teach my child good work ethic, hygiene, basic survival, basic financial, and basic interpersonal skills. This way at 18 if they wind up out in the real world, they can last a little while before realizing that they aren't so tough. That was my theory anyway, however there are always outside influences which can counteract your parental teachings, and this was my experience. 

I was busy doing drugs and destroying my credibility when my peers were building a foundation of life skills. I was barely able to support myself, when I became pregnant and forced to support another. I did give up drugs and alcohol the minute I suspected that this was the case. I did a really great job as a mother for the first seven or so years. Everyone who knew me would agree. In the beginning, I lived with my mother, who would continuously under mind me, she would wake the baby from a sound sleep to play with her when she got home from work at night. We would fight, and we did, constantly. So I conditioned myself to leave as soon as my mother arrived every night. The only place I could go was the bar... and even then I wouldn't drink hardly ever. I would have a soda and a late dinner and my "friends" would show up. I did this every night and weekends I was rarely home at all, because the toxicity between my mother and I was too high to subject a baby to.

Before I knew it, my mother was retired, I was working 2nd shift, and control of my child was lost. This became more clear when I moved out and enrolled my kid in school, the behavior issues began, the hygiene issues began, the eating and TV control issues began. The kid had way more stamina than I had patience. The school, the police, therapists, everyone was involved, because I had asked for help. The battle became harder to win when I took my weekends and used them as a way to escape. My mother took my kid and I got high. The length of the weekend got longer and longer, soon my mother would be making a 40 minute commute daily to my child's school and I didn't even live in the town anymore.

Roughly 3 years later, I made a conscious effort to rebuild my life, beginning with my addiction. I was homeless, jobless, penniless. I was not allowed in my mother's home, my father was not speaking to me, my true friends had washed their hands of me, and my new friends, well most of them were dead or in prison by now. I begged forgiveness of my child, and my mother, I went into the hospital for a while, sober living, therapy, 3 meetings a day. Finally the words of forgiveness were spoken. I thought I was making progress, however, these were only words, the words that I wanted to hear, no less. There was no meaning behind the words, no truth, no love, no merit, and no ACTION. The relationship with my mother became increasingly volatile, my 12 year old has discovered the internet, video games, and junk food. I tried to invoke my motherly duties and try to  steer the ship back on course, however my good intentions were met with resentment and resistance. These feelings simmered in a pressure cooker for another 6 years. While I was working on me, building a foundation of the skills I missed out on in my youth, my child was stewing with bitter anger toward me and there was no healing taking place at all. A high school drop out, spending all time time on the internet and playing video games with friends and never even bothered to get a driver's license, personal hygiene had become deplorable. My enabling mother continued to bankroll the whole operation.

When my child turned 18 the muscle flexing began, there was no way to avoid the verbal onslaught which I would receive. It's been months now and our relationship is at an all time low, however I have done far too much work on myself and my life to allow anyone to use or abuse me at any time. This includes my own child. She resents the way I try to help her assimilate her lack of enthusiasm toward growing up to the same underlying illness which feeds my addiction. The person is different, the symptom is different, however the disease is the same. The anger, the rage, the finger pointing and the blame, all comes from fear and uncertainty, right now it is all aimed at me.

There comes a time when we all realize the best outcome of a losing battle happens when the person with the greatest arsenal simply walks away. I feel emancipated and physically, I feel healthier, almost as if I have overcome a great illness. I feel no guilt, no shame, and I harbor no ill will. I live with a lighter heart, my family doesn't define me, and their lack of love will not condemn me. I am free today.

18 and Straight-Edge, STILL My Daughter

The more things clear up for me, the sharper the reality becomes. I am a product of two people who have always had their own internal, personal, or even psychological issues and both continually make the same poor choices, and refuse to acknowledge that they "own" even a fraction of accountability for the things that happen in their lives as a result.

That is OK, I have no control over them, or how they wish to live their lives, and I made one poor choice in leaving my daughter with one of these people when I was actively abusing drugs and couldn't take care of her myself. Sort of a lesser of two evils decision, there really wasn't a better one in hindsight. So for the past 6 years while I've been soul searching and working through 12 step programs to make a serious effort to improve my thinking on a daily basis, my child has been living in the very toxicity which I could not bear. I did make room for my daughter to come and live with me, repeatedly extended the offer over the past 4 years and finally stopped asking. She knows that she wouldn't be allowed to live the way she does where she is. (Up all night on the computer or playing video games, sleeping all day, no job, poor hygiene, no structure, no therapy, no school). I can't control how a teenager behaves, but I can lay down the boundaries of what I am willing to tolerate in my own home.

Needless to say because my child has not lived with me for several years and is now 18, she's not really interested in the whole mother daughter relationship. I have talked with her about drugs, about alcohol, about sex, about peer pressure, about anger and rage, she views everything as a lecture, and responds with "I know, Mom". She won't talk about anything but girl gossip and teen-aged drama, I don't  know what to give her on birthdays and holidays, because she is so over-indulged to begin with. She's over 300 pounds, her inevitable addiction has manifested itself in food, although she denies it. I don't know how to help her and suddenly it becomes clear that she doesn't WANT my help. I can't be the one who helps her, I get that, but I am the only one trying. In fact, I am the only person in my family working on improving my life, and that makes me the enemy.

My daughter, views me as an asshole for having not pulled my head out of my ass 12 years before so that I could have been the mother she imagines I would be. My mother thinks that insanity is a choice and blames my father's side of the family for the choices I made which "made [me] crazy". Both are living in the past. I made my amends, and continue to, I follow through by being available and reliable and keeping my promises, my temper improved, although there were many days when I had to cut my visit short, as my bullshit meter was in the red and I was about to blow a gasket.

Which brings us to yesterday. Thanksgiving Saturday with my mother and daughter, out to lunch and to a movie... We get to the restaurant and my anorexic mother says she doesn't want to eat, but orders a meal anyway so that my food addicted daughter can have two entrees. When I make a comment about it, my daughter decides she doesn't want anything at all. The tension begins, there is a disturbance in the force, and I am already the bad guy for having pointed out the obvious. Then we go to the movie, walking back to the car, it is COLD out, my daughter is dressed for early fall not 30 degree weather, starts complaining about the temperature. I point out that she's not dressed for the weather, she argues that her winter coat is no warmer... Naturally, I say, do you need a new winter coat? She says "No, I hate the cold weather" (she has never lived in or even visited ANY other climate). My response is, "OK then, get a job and move out to a warmer part of the world" She SNAPS before I know it she's gone, now my mother and I are sitting in the car while she has her tantrum somewhere outside in this cold which she cannot handle... 30 minutes go by and she finally gets in the car, I ask her why she took off, especially if she is "so cold" she flips out again, almost psychotically, screaming at the top of her lungs and making little to no sense.

The general barrage of fuck you's and I hate you's were followed up by, "You were never there" and "you don't even care" as it turns out, the trigger phrase that had set her in motion was the "get a job" part. "I've been trying so hard to get a job, Mom, you don't even know." A better parent may have allowed this to end right then, however my parents did me a dis-service by not calling me on my lies and bullshit. Earlier in the week and again in the day, I had asked my daughter if she had tried on ANY of the $200.00 worth of clothes that I had bought her 5 weeks prior, "not yet" was the response. Considering those clothes were "help find and secure a job" clothes... Considering every one of her "posts" on social media sites was something about video games or horror movies, and had been time stamped all throughout the hours of the night when most people sleep, and my mother had been complaining to me that she sleeps all damn day long when most people job hunt, I called her out. I threw the bullshit flag, without a notion of my how my actions would be received, and it was ugly.

Although emotionally hung over, I do not regret what I did. I placed the accountability back on my 18 year old, because my mother never did (on either of us). Of course blame has been passed through the family several times, not the same, and not something that I have time for. My daughter has adapted her skills to be in shape for the blame game and this has become very convenient for her. I made it very clear that I wouldn't allow her to lie to herself in my presence. We all make our choices, and we are not victims of the consequences when we make one that doesn't turn out the way we WANT it to. Since life is such a learning experience, I am grateful today for the consequences of my choices, some are a jagged pill to swallow, but all are a direct result of the way I choose to make decisions.

My mother and daughter may never change, what changed yesterday was my participation in their game. I do not have to go to every fight I am invited to. I've changed and I will continue to change, I am a work in progress and I do not do everything right. However, I crawl beneath no one, and owe no more apologies to this family. My amends are continued as I live and continue to grow and continue to learn from the errors of my ways, like any adult is meant to do. I hate the thought that my daughter is inevitably going to have to suffer through some of the most difficult times of her life, almost needlessly until she finds that she's lying to herself and that blame doesn't matter. Other people's behavior doesn't matter, as it is uncontrollable, that all she can control are her own actions and reactions to her choices and consequences. However what she finds along the way is part of her journey, not mine, and I refuse to be abused any longer.

I am NOT OK

I am not strong, so don't lean on me.

I am not smart, you don't want to hear what I think.

I am not sane, stay away! Why are you drawn to me?

Keeping up appearances is about the worst habit I could have picked up along the way. I have perfected the art of creating and presenting a false persona, one far different from what I am or how I feel under my skin. My insides do NOT match my outsides. Like an actor on a stage, I portray a likable and friendly, fun-loving, smart, strong, and well rounded individual. Internally I am antisocial, sad, angry, I spend a great deal of time in the clutches of an agonizing depression. It is like a bad neighborhood that you wouldn't want to be in alone. My gut tells me that these feelings have roots in living this lie which may not be unlike living a double life. A life and a lie which I don't believe I can continue to carry on. 

That is why I started this blog, and it is virtually unknown to people who think they really KNOW me. I want my fresh start on an empty canvas, a clean slate so to speak. I want to be me, without walls, with no aggressive defenses, and no bullshit. I want to make true friends based on who I am inside and that I am working to help myself heal from there, rather than continuously trying to put on a show. Such honesty would be sure to render me powerless over the cruel and calculated predator known as the human animal.

Trust does not come easy, as I feel as though I am vulnerable to exploitation if I am to allow an open view into who I really am. This may be why I am prone to abuse. I generally find the good in all people and become weakened as I listen to their sad, sorry, stories, I make convenient and well packaged excuses for everybody's shit-bag behavior. I put myself in danger by doing so and I continue to allow it and defend it and excuse it over and over and over until it hits a nerve. Then, being the extremist that I am, I turn to drop the motherfucker in the most vicious and dramatic reactionary style that any retaliatory attack could be. Unacceptable behavior needs to be nixed immediately, not tolerated until it reaches a breaking point.

Knowing this, one may presume, is instrumental in getting a handle on it... If only I knew how to view things for what they are as they are happening. I  sometimes feel that I am at an extreme just before I hit a wall and dramatically, I turn radically into the opposite extreme. So when dealing with people and the way I cling to the good and bypass the bad... In that exact moment of discovery, after extracting all possible inner goodness real or imaginary, the only alternative that my mind can see happens in the immediate and turns to complete suspicion and skepticism. Sniff out the conspiracy and go to any lengths to prove that there is one in play. 

I go through phases where I will pass this negative judgment upon any and all who I encounter. Therefor the slightest thing set's my neurosis of intolerance in motion. (As a post-conscious observation... especially relevant in the event of my own misunderstanding). If it defies logic, or neglects to make practical sense in my thought process, my tendency is to adamantly reject it, aborting all other protocols, casting it out as alien, and publicly voicing my displeasure. My sharp wit morphs to a razor tongue which aids in the personal dissection of  character. I'm on auto-pilot, spinning beyond my own control, while systematically, my cyclonic behavior constructs the soapbox that I stand upon while I emotionally execute my newly manufactured enemy.

What has seeded such extremes of passive and aggressive anger inside of me? Why do I continue to allow myself to become enraged when the slightest issue arises? Human beings aren't perfect, we ALL make mistakes, we ALL have issues around admitting we are making them, don't we? Why do I feel in the deepest point of my heart, that I have a purpose on this earth? When will it be revealed? Which way will I turn? Who am I supposed to help? I can't understand this fire and ice, bi-polar, good vs. evil, human oxymoron, love me or fucking kill me... chemical conundrum which drives me and tears me apart from the inside! 

Sometimes I think I can completely  accept all of this. In actuality, it is but a momentary thought that allows me to believe any of this it is within the limits of  my own comprehension. I am told to let it be as it is, but I cannot. At my core I'm a fixer, a problem solver, a puzzle finisher, and I won't stop until I've connected the dots. At this moment, I am in fear I may be losing my grip, I am shredded inside, the pain, it burns deep today, and I fear that I may be falling apart completely.

Bedtime Stories and Birth Control: Where Do Babies Come From?

Prince Charming was a closeted homosexual bitch-boy which clearly explains why his hair was so perfect and he always rode a stallion. "Happily Ever After" referred to his safe existence, after the Princess pulled him up out of the moat after the King's men ran a train on his ass and beat the ever living shit out of him for being such a fucking queen. Shortly after Prince and Princess move in together, there was some strange accidental chemical reaction between two cells and a parasitic infection occurs inside of the Princess. 

This growing parasite thrives on it's new host, controlling everything from body temperature to mood swings, appetite, sex drive, nipple tenderness... It grows and depletes all of the natural supply of vitamins, minerals, emotional stability, shape, and memory of the suffering princess. 

Eventually the parasite becomes too large for the host and must be expelled by any means necessary, it seems biologically driven in the direction of the door that it's foreign, paternal cell used to enter. The Princess suffers through an excruciating event, for which drugs may be introduced, and not a moment too soon. Large doses of opiates and sedatives are just the perfect combination of pharmacology to create a bond between this now external parasite and it's hosts, for it is not cute, it is all wrinkly and yellow, an under-developed, barely human, fish-faced, dependent organism. It does NOT smell good, at first it may smell like bad food, fermented amniotic fluid, afterbirth, blood, and over-worked pussy, then they get cleaned up and some asshole brings it back to you smelling like Ivory Snow and Baby Wash. 

Soon after you bring it home, it reeks of cradle cap and spit up sour milk, then real vomit and straight up shit, the drugs have worn off and you can throw any sign of cuteness out the fucking window, believe me, you are about to! Your delusion of being a princess has disappeared! 

Just before you feed it to the neighbors dog, this dependent creature begins to make these alien cooing sounds, while staring all crooked at you. One eye closed, tongue over to the side of their drooling pucker, oh how cute, you are in love all over again.

NO, moron, that's not a smile, the little shit machine is working on a record, filling its diaper and trying to make shit smear straight up his back and out the top of the Onesie and the adorable little Baby Gap outfit that you just spent 60 bucks on. 

You won't sleep or get a hot meal for years, the common cold seems to linger longer than average in your home, you sanitize and wash everything until you don't give a fuck if the thing eats a dead rat. You stop wiping snot from it's ever running nose, you stop replacing the batteries in the baby monitor, you stop checking it's mouth for small marbles or lego's, you left those in on the floor deliberately, you are secretly trying to kill the fucking thing, it's sucking the life out of you and it's no longer even on the inside. What the fuck have you done?!?!

The parasite is dependent on it's host for many years to come, food, lots of food, clothing, lots of clothing and SHOES, braces, and CASH, car keys and college, bridal shower, wedding, new home, baby shower, there you go rinse & repeat... it's a horrific nasty cycle for which you spend decades wanting to drown Charming in the moat you pulled him out of, if of course, he hasn't left you for your younger wicked step sister, or the much older and wiser, fairy god-mother. 

Now you are an alcoholic, single mom, with a distended, stretch marked gut, wrinkles, yellow teeth, smokers lung, thinning grey hair, a wardrobe which has gone in and out of style 4 times since you purchased it, and it's barely covering your belly, let alone the once perky tits that sag beneath your belt line. What a catch, you go girl!

Mommy and Daddy Issues... Ya Think?

Inside my mind is a bad neighborhood... I really shouldn't be here alone!"

When I am all alone with myself, the quiet is too much to bear. I am physically paralyzed by emotional pain...To own my part seems foolish, as I did not ask for this life and the fucked up childhood which I did not have a choice in living. Apologizes don't remove scars. Living amends work well for me and those I hurt who are interested in actually being connected to my life somehow. My mother hasn't ever been interested in me, what I wanted to be, or what I strive to do. She rejects me, refuses to see me, and when I show up, never misses an opportunity to point out just what kind of piece of shit I am, or how my status in scumbag-ville has so appropriately manifested in my child, who is nearly an adult, and a very positive specimen at that. 

After 17 years of chaos, filled with calculated emotional and physical abuse, my ex-military one time psychologist father, removed himself from my life, and has made very seldom a cameo appearance since. The only contact I have had with him in the past 22 years, I have initiated. Only one conversation has ended with a positive feeling, it was the most recent, and the odds of it happening again are so slim, it may very well have been our last one ever.

Repeatedly, I have tried to be a part of my family. Like touching a hot stove, burned my hand, and beat myself up about it. Time went by, I thought I was to blame and that it was going to be different, because of the work I have done on myself, I gave it another shot, and OUCH! That fucking stove STILL burns, go figure. Most recently, I have made a conscious decision to make no effort toward first contact with either of them, and of course there has been no attempt from either side to have any contact with me. I say that I do not hold any ill will or resentment... This is true as long as I am busy, working, going to the gym, attending meetings, out with friends, listening to loud music, spending time with my daughter, but the pain is there behind all of these band aids that I use to masque it.

The cut is too big for band aids now. It's torn up and the surface isn't sturdy enough for stitches. My hurt feelings and sadness used to only worsen during times when society calls for togetherness of "family", and holiday cheer. The word FAMILY is a hot button, which sends me off the deep end at times. It's safe to say that the pain is now constant and debilitating. I believe it is cutting off my circulation, I cannot breathe, it's stunting my growth. I can't act out in my old childish ways, as I would be incarcerated or hospitalized indefinitely. Medication is not an option for me, as I don't believe chemicals are an appropriate treatment of the root issue, but the outer symptoms... let's start with one chemical then add another, then add one more, then something for the side effects of the first, now the second and so on... defying all logic.

SO I write...

To both of you:

My poor choices were made after yours, yet mine have always been the ones criticized. What did we do about our precious child trying to slit her own throat at age 7? I know what we did, we suppressed it, after all what would the neighbors think? I have come to accept that once things happen in life, they cannot UN-happen. In my quest for validation, love, affection, nurturing, and emotional stability; I've sought temporary relief in sex, older men, older women, crime, drugs, and when I still wasn't satisfied, dominance, power, and violence. My relationships have been no healthier than the one that brought me into this world, and I recognize today that nothing else in my life can improve until I have successfully released this pain from my heart.

To my mother:

Keeping up appearances was your facade manufactured to keep people from getting close enough to see the sickness inside of you. In a sense I was raised in a lie and forced to lie. Feelings, affection, comfort, were dismissed, discounted, and disallowed. Love and respect were purchased. Trust was a foreign commodity, traded for leverage on the most believable fable. You are cold and calculated, and as you have aged, it has become more clear. When I was a child there was one parent that saw through you, as a teen, a second parent and a third, as an adult I notice that your friends have disappeared, you have just one left, and she will inevitably see through your veil of deceit. You had them all snowed for so long, as if you were some sort of "Mother Theresa", high regarded in your clique of church folk who had no reason to suspect that any kind of evil would lurk in their sacred house of worship. 

You are 71 years old, headed in the direction of dying alone, and I don't feel bad, not one iota. Fuck you, for continuing to treat me like I am lower than buried dog shit. I've fantasized about hanging myself at (Your Church)'s altar with a giant sign that reads simply, "(Your Name)'s Daughter", if only the video that plays in my head playing all the fucked up things you say and do could project out to ensure that you wouldn't be seen as a martyr. When I needed a mother, you needed to perform for your audience. The older I got the less fun it was, the promises of fame and fortune were as empty as my soul was becoming. I knew nothing of life, of being a woman, of sex, of my body. I sought your approval through all means possible. The more desperate I became, the less you had to do with me. You have been ashamed of my existence since I was able to form a thought that was different from yours. 

To this day you are uncomfortable when I begin to speak in your presence. If you admitted that you've ever had ANY single human struggle whatsoever, I would recoil from such an emotionally angry, and aggressive posture and I would embrace you in MY arms, as you are my mom and I am biologically wired to love you. Even though you have consistently used my need for your love as a way to crush my exposed, unguarded, heart. When I had cancer, you wouldn't even drive me to my surgery, I was in prison, you wouldn't take my calls, rehab, still nothing. Again, fuck you, you sick fucking depraved sociopath. If I outlive you, I will drop trow and shit on your headstone!

To my father:

My role in your family remains undefined, says the grown up forgotten child.

When I needed a Daddy, you needed to chase pussy. You finally divorced from my mother after dragging me around from situation to situation cheating on her for 18 years. Promising me a happy life and a loving family. You never bothered to look at the lifetime of destruction you left in your wake. Your abusive and explosive temper left it's devastation in the form of physical and emotional scars, your cruel and horrific words cut far deeper than that. I was selfish and self centered at 6? Really? You bastard, you knowingly placed blame on me and robbed me of my childhood by insisting that I grow up and accept the fact that I was never going to amount to anything. I sat at your bedside while you threatened to blow your brains out, I cried myself to sleep at night afraid that you actually would. You turned me against my mother who was equally crazy, insured me that you were going to take me somewhere that life would be better for both of us. At 7, you fucking abandoned me with family I never knew and haven't seen since. Then at 17 you fucking bailed on me completely. You left me behind. I was very sick, having surgery in the hospital when you packed all of your shit and the day I got out, you left. You fucking COWARD. 9 months without a call, no forwarding address, not a birthday or a Christmas card. 20 years later, and you've contacted me ONE TIME. Let's not forget about the 17 years of abuse, the holes in my bedroom walls and the scars on my face. Don't worry, the school nurse knows I just fell, but Daddy, why are you mad at me? You never came to see me in jail, rehab, or any hospital, you never took my calls begging for your help. You have never visited, you have never invited me to spend time with you. You and your ex wife both act like once the magic number 18 is achieved, your child is no longer existent. Fuck you. 

Not only did you make a million promises you did not keep, you left me DAD, you walked out the door and found yourself a pre-fab-family, then you forgot all about me and made them your 2nd chance! Those kids grew up loving the fact that they have 2 fathers, and now an extra grandfather to their kids. Do you ever wonder how your biological daughter feels about not having a father at all, or your biological grand daughter wondering why she has a grandfather, but he never talks to her or sees her or sends her cards on her birthday? FUCK YOU. I often wonder how my life would have been had you died from taking my penicillin instead of your percocet on the plane that day... what a convenient oversight it was for you to be having an allergic reaction in the hospital while I was running the streets of Oakland at 15. I've always had a knack for finding ways to have my kinda fun.

I made my amends and you claimed that you too had made some changes and found your own program and way of life, funny how nothing has changed for you and I, but what a great man you are today. When holidays come, use your fucking head... I don't want your fucking photographs of your family and your happy life. I don't want to hear about the wonderful family vacations you've taken with my grandmother, aunts, uncles, or cousins. I don't want to know about how much better a Dadda you are to someone else's kids, or "grand kids"... You have ONE grand daughter, you piece of shit, you didn't even bother to acknowledge her when planning for your mother's 80th birthday celebration. YOU sure as fuck don't want to hear how I struggle every day of my life with the strength to not put a bullet in my own fucking head. Yeah Daddy, just like you did when I was a little girl, I sit in the dark on the edge of my bed contemplating suicide. Thanks for the inheritance, shove it up your fucking ass. I should blow my brains out all over your dining room during your beautiful loving family's Christmas dinner!

Evil Took My Baby

Somehow, some way 
given the dangerous games I played.. 
I am able to fight from morning to night, 
with hope that I can actually get it right. 
The sickness inside is a curse of the fam, 
it's taken me off to the world of the damned. 
I've seen hell, been there, lived it! 
Today I stay within my limits... 

Seeing my baby in my old shoes is scary, 
I must protect her from my mother Mary. 
I see my past, know where I came from, 
I can try to take her, but she'll never come. 
She just doesn't know or understand 
how she was ripped out of my hands. 
Portrayed so perfect she appears so tight, 
but she lives a lie beyond her own insight. 
A daughter should know her mother's not lying, 
she's been fed the same crap that everyone's buying. 

She's been hurt so much, she's so confused, 
so naive to the fact that she's being abused. 
Pure evil will sit up on the highest perch... 
and masquerade in the shadows of the church. 
Brainwashed, convinced, she's got them all tricked 
That's MY BABY, Evil has clenched in her grips! 
I can't stand to see it, I could fight to the death. 
I would lose her for sure, and have nothing left. 

I love my baby I know how she suffers, 
because of me, the worst kind of mother... 
What's left to do? I have made my amends! 
I have to be patient until it finally ends. 
I wish she would open her eyes to the truth, 
she'd still have some time to enjoy her youth. 
All I can do is wait here at the gate, 
hope when she comes out it's not too late.