Only one of my friends has knowledge of my blog. I think it would surprise some. I'm known for my bright personality. Always smiling. Never letting anything get to me. Remaining stoic because acknowledging my weaknesses would make me one of them "angry black women" you hear about. If I allowed myself to be a statistic of my environment, I would be a drug addicted, unemployed, state assisted single mother with six "baby daddies". See I grew up shuffled between states and family members. My parents were stereotypical crack heads. I grew up with drug dealers taking our TV as we watched because my mother sold it for a hit. I saw more drug transactions before I was twelve than all of the seasons of The Wire. I don't remember a Christmas between 6 and 12 where we had presents from our parents. My Christmas memories consist of visiting my parents in rehab. I was the youngest so my sisters protected me from most of it, but who can protect you from the sight of seeing your 11-year-old sister with a gun to her head because the cops didn't believe she was 11 when they came to raid a "crack house." I think my sister's protecting me affected their current perspective on life. One sister tries to please everybody and when she doesn't she lashes out with words that cut worse than any sword. The other sister tries to be perfect and hold on to her "perfect family" by any means necessary.
I hold on to the memories of my parents before I knew they had a problem. When my father was my hero. When he used to wake me up when my sisters were sleep so we could eat strawberry short cakes and watch old black and white movies. When he could do no wrong. I admired his strength. My father never raised his voice but it appeared to me that he captivated everybody. I hung on his every word. Even though, I knew my parents were on drugs, in my eyes, my father could do no wrong. Everything was my mother's fault. Even now, after my father has been dead for 6 years after 4 years of being drug free, I fail to acknowledge his responsibility in the situation. Maybe it's because he never lied to me. If I asked why the TV was gone, he told me, whereas, my mother would lie.
I've never acknowledged the pain until now. Maybe my daddy issues have everything to do with relationship issues. Hope my tears don't short circuit my laptop.
2 comments:
I really appreciate this. The candor is something I respect very much. There are too many who pretend their lives growing up - and presently - are perfect. I consider this blog a gift. As I read the posts, I was nodding in agreement to many of the statements...and in some instances, I felt an all too familiar knot in my throat and sadness in my heart. When I was 11, I also had a gun to my head for the same reason...was interesting going back to school after summer break and having people ask how I spent my time off.
I look forward to reading more and thank you for sharing the experiences. You are an inspiration.
Thank you so much for your kind words. I really appreciate them. I am all too familiar with that knot byt writing this blog really helps.
Post a Comment