Missing a Stitch

I need to do more of these lovely Daily Posts, well here we go on the feels train again choo choo!

Something felt wrong. The entire house was exploding with a hushed intensity and I proceed to skulk up to my room like a dog with its tail between its legs. I figured it had to be something I had done wrong. It seemed every day there was something new that made me a less than worthwhile human. The quiet chatter of my siblings was coming from their room, something about ponies and Transformers. They were five and six years old respectively at this frozen frame in my mind. They were both starting to get into reading and were competitive at everything, despite their distinct personality differences. Both of their faces were splotched with freckles and had remnants of their summer glow achieved from hours of playing in the sun and in the oblong kiddie pool in the back yard. She was becoming a beautiful tyrant with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that upheld her calm assertion in herself. My brother with his mellow pools aqua and amber hair revealed the softer sensitive personality he would grow into. They mean the world to me. Why he wouldn’t allow me to spend any real length of time with them without my stepmother or himself there to supervise was truly beyond me.

I curl up on my bed that was tucked away in one of the many alcoves of my room and replayed my father’s words in my head. Don’t read to them, you’re just a bad influence on them. It was crushing. All I wanted to do is show them the beauty of books like my stepmother had shown me as a kid, except she was always tired after working hard all day to support our family. It was the least I could do to show how much she helped me grow as a person. My mind sifted through all I could have possibly done wrong that would cause such an uproar that raged on in the garage. She took what seemed to be the brunt of his rage most times, diluting it into easier to handle amounts. However much heat she took off of his words, it was still not enough to keep them from killing me just a little bit more on the inside. I would allow the words to mostly roll off besides some of the more intense ones; those festered beneath my skin and occasionally haunt me to this day. I retreat into a state of non-existence in which nothing in the world mattered. There have been many months where I wished it had mattered to me. 

The sun was setting behind the silhouette of the trees outside my window and stress had nearly consumed me. There had to be something I had done that I couldn’t think of. Footsteps creeped up the stairs and the tension in all my muscles increased tenfold. If it had just been my father angry for no real reason, he would have beckoned me down by hollering my name belligerently; but no, this was my stepmother coming to me. Things were serious and possibly beyond all hope of return. I had tucked myself into the fetal position at the edge of my bed and put myself into a near frenzy, so that all outside stimulus was nullified. Her soft knock at the door required me to invite her, which I did so obediently despite my wish for hesitance. Her voice was low and soothing and eased my tears of stress, panic, and fear as she delivered her news.

My little brother had stayed home. What my father had done struck a deep seated chord of hatred which I had feared to play until this day. I needed to be strong. I should have been strong six years ago. Why hadn’t I been able to be the protectorate that this family had needed? Why could I not have saved us? A moderately deep gash was displayed overtop of the banner of freckles that decorated by brothers cheekbones. I saw this when I finally heard the woeful tale that made me rue my performance as the eldest. My stepmother and I had already left for school, seeing as she is a high school English teacher. My father had always targeted my brother once I was gone due to his softer nature. Whenever I see something cowering, I just get the urge to kick it. He saw us as things, second class beings under his authoritarian rule. My sister was normally safe, since she had a fire in her soul that provided her the defiance that earned respect. I had the ability to be a scapegoat and handle whatever he dished out to me. My brother though, he was a creature of docility. My brother had no armor suitable for this battle.

My stepmother had made him leave that night and we clutched at each other like drowning men to shore as we unleashed the pain and fear we had harbored for years in smooth rivulets down our faces. She was terrified of losing the family she had built, seeing as she had no legal custody over me. I was terrified that the nightmare would never end. We watched his truck roll out of sight down the driveway and I prayed in my heart for him to never harm our family again. My prayer must have fell short however, for we all bear our battle scars hidden in our hearts. We clung together and lasted the tempest, but how does one rebuild after the storm? The blame I ladled onto my plate weighed down my heart for years to come.

The questions swirl in my head and make me nauseous from self-hatred. If I had stood up to him earlier, even just three years earlier, I can’t help but wonder if everything would have been better. My siblings would have grown up without recollection of a father figure and would be less burdened by this mysterious figure at the edge of their memory. They wouldn’t have to wonder if he had left because he didn’t love them like I had, spending year chasing the answer to the same question regarding my mother. If I had stood up sooner, maybe my stepmother wouldn’t have memories laced with pain. Maybe if I stood up to my mother maybe I would still have my family intact. My siblings wouldn’t have to wonder when they are going to see their sister again. Maybe I wouldn’t have to shoulder all this pain for years to come. Our lives would be so much different if only I had been stronger.

We would still be home and our family as one. We would all be healing together, because as one we stand stronger against the nightmares of our past. There wouldn’t be a rift dividing all of our lives. If only I had been stronger…


The Snow Is Sand

All that is on my mind currently:

Christmas, a time for friends, family, and the spirit of giving. I guess two out of three isn’t all that bad. I have got some baked love to hand out to all the people that have made this year worth living and I am very excited to present it to them, but something is missing. I was raised with my stepmother, my father, and my two younger siblings; I was never really fond of my Dad for reasons better left unsaid, but everyone else is mandatory to my basic functioning. I had to move away three years ago after the divorce, due to her lacking custody and me not wanting to burden her further as a single mother. I have been able to travel to spend at least a chunk of the holiday with them in past years, however this year I have been working and taking on extra shifts in order to pay for some of my college loans that will be accumulating here shortly. I am having issues facing the fact that this Christmas is going to be hard on me. It hurts to see everyone missing you when you have to leave abruptly to go to work, cutting everyone’s time short. It hurts to see how much my siblings have grown when I sit back and remember like it was yesterday when I was reading bedtime stories to them.

I would move in, but I can’t. Well technicality I could, but then my mother has almost sworn to disown me. I don’t know why that thought bugs me. I have never been close to her or her husband or anyone on that part of my family to any meaningful extent. Why can’t I just leave? At this point, my mother barely provides for me and I could provide a portion of the income for my stepmother if she needed it. I would have love, support, and actually have interest in what was going on with my life. I was raised with that and now that it is gone these past three years have left me hollow. It pains me to just visit my stepmother, following it I have weeks of homesickness and emotional torment; but the longer I go, the less it hurts. It probably seems immature, but I just don’t know. Maybe I’m just not strong enough. I just don’t know.

I can go weeks without talking to my mother, even though we live together. The current record is two weeks and the only words she said to me were asking about how was work. Who can go two weeks without talking and then simply ask about the most impersonal thing besides the weather?  Maybe this is how other families function. I feel like I have nowhere to turn for answers about this. I know that I should just be thankful that I have a roof over my head and that I am no longer getting abused, but that four month span after the divorce where it had just been my me, stepmom, and two siblings completely altered my perspective. I know I will never have that back fully and the only way I can get it back for good is to model my own family on what she has taught me. It all seems to brief; all of life is a breath. Here for a second and then dying the next. I need to cherish what I have left on this spinning blue marble, for it will all be gone soon enough.

On the Outside

So, go ahead and tell me I was wrong. I went through my boyfriend’s blog. Normally he shows me every post, despite them being blocked from public view. I came home early and decided to do a little reading before I started to clean. I pull up the page and my excitement builds. I always love getting little peeks into his thought process and what I pull up makes my heart cringe. He wrote about us. How he is feeling replaced. All I could think is that I hate myself. Hate isn’t a strong enough word really. It disgusted me to think that one of the most important people in my life felt left out. I get that I’ve been busy, but god why so harsh. It kills me to think that I made him feel this way. Once he came home, I did my best to make him feel loved and to see how much he means to me. I then proceed to ask if he has written anything. My heart plummets a second time. His response was “No”. Pain. Betrayal. Guilt. I hate this feeling. This worry. Why would he lie about something that simple? He has sat and talked about his ex’s showed me posts about past dates. None are nearly important  and yet the others were more abrasive. Why? I can handle you telling me that I’ve been a sub-par girlfriend. I completely understand. I’m going to say something tomorrow once I get my thoughts sorted out. So many thoughts equals very little sleep for me.

Passing Life By

My life seems to have been defined by life circumstances, rather than my own decisions. I’m left wondering why. I don’t live with regrets,since it is part of my morals; but things could be entirely different.
When I was fourteen, I received a delayed acceptance to Mary Baldwin’s PEG program, this would have allowed me to go to college before graduating from high school. It was a delayed acceptance due to the simple fact of life that money was tight. It always was tight due to my father’s alcoholism and later discovered drug addiction. All of that however is for another post some day. I ended up turning that offer down, because my family was splitting into pieces again and I needed to be part of the pickup crew. I didn’t mind too terribly much. The reason I had applied was to leave my father behind and escape the ever growing animosity he harbored in his heart against me. The divorce didn’t happen until the winter in which I was fifteen.
Of course the sanctuary that my stepmother and siblings provided when my father finally left would be short lived. All little birds must leave the nest. I felt even to this day that it was a premature departure from a place I would call home. My stepmother had no legal custody and I knew that if I had denied my mother her right to snatch me up, then the damage would be close to irreparable. I have had talks with her in the past year confirming that she would have put her needs above mine and wouldn’t have forgave me for staying with my stepmother. I traded in the slow pace of country life with the bustling existence of suburbia. I couldn’t call it living what I did these past two years. It was really learning how to get back on my feet.
My life could have been different. My life probably could have been better. All these factors seem out of my control, despite how desperately I wish to be the puppeteer. How deftly I would maneuver them, the situations and people spinning to an unheard waltz. Everything complimenting each other beautifully. Alas.
Now there has come a new complication in my life; it is neither in my parents’ control, nor is it firmly in my control. If I were to seize the helm, then I could face social isolation from my family. I could play the safe road and adhere to everyone else’s wishes, but it would have me give up my say in my future. My parents have made it exceedingly clear that they expect me to act as an adult financially, which is to be expected, yet they will not allow me to move out. I have yet to understand their rationale and am presently waiting for an explanation beyond “because I told you so”.
Maybe I’m the one who can’t see past my desire to be free or maybe it is as it was before. Either way, I’ll stick to the passive road and pray that it’ll get me to where I hope to be going.


To the ever lovely Daily Blog


There are times where you have to wonder why thing ended up in your favor, even though impending doom seemed more probable. Things in my childhood home seeing as my parents were divorced and separately remarried. My father’s temper was a force not to be reckoned with, it seemed to be amplified by any change of events. This was especially true when the court summons appeared in our mailbox. This alone awoke the demon within him, to have some lady who he didn’t feel was a significant part of my life waltz in and question his authority. For the next several weeks he had managed to shift the blame in his head onto me and like time and time before, I bore the load without faltering. Those couple weeks I had feared for my spirit and my sanity. It was a waiting game to see which would break first. I can tell you all about the humility I felt when held pressed against a wall with only my collar holding me up, spittle flying off of his lips along with the hate filled monologues. I can also tell you the self loathing he introduced by secluding me from the rest of our family. However, none of that really matters in the grand scheme of things. There were times I almost broke. Many of them and each one was a bullet. Reviewing the events; each moment of weakness looks like a bullet in slow motion, something I could have easily dodged. In the moment, they had been the morning sun. They seemed that they would catch up to me in time and time is something we can never stop. All we can do is get back up and dust ourselves off so we can keep traveling onward.

Living the Quiet Life

In response to the daily post

I love the idea of confidence, it is something so many people lack and what I feel is a driving factor in the current work force. The only problem is, I am a part of the legions of people that really lack it in some way or another. I grew up hearing “it’s not good enough”. I could be the top of my class, excelling at everything I put my mind to. It never was going to be good enough. This definitely transferred into the way I live my life now. I am a pretty shy person and will remain silent and take everything in, gaining information about everyone by listening to the waves of people. I am a wall flower in full bloom. The only real time I exude confidence is when I know that I either am the best or when I need to pretend to be the best. I know that probably confuses the people that know me, especially since I love to sing and debate. This is why I have no videos up of me singing on YouTube, even though I would really like to showcase my meager talents. So maybe one day I will have the inner peace necessary to display such an act of bravery. Maybe. One day.