To all my readers I know I have not written in a while. I have been going through many changes. I took the leap to find a safe nice place that I can call home, and I did. I will take pictures later on. I just wanted my readers to know I am okay and alive. I have not done anything harmful, although times have been stressful enough I have definitely thought of doing so, but I haven’t and I won’t. I am keeping strong. It has been stressful these past few weeks. I am realizing where I belong in my daughters family and I am trying to find out where I am in my life. I love my new apartment, I feel safe and I have been sleeping in the dark with ALL the lights off. I just wanted everyone to know I am okay,
Death has always been weird to me. I have never been able to express condolences appropriately. When a close uncle found out he had cancer my first words were “well, that’s what he gets for smoking.” I did feel bad but showing sympathy has never been a strong trait of mine. It is also weird to me in the way that for much of my life I was waiting to die. There have been many times where the only reason I am alive today is because I always thought about the risk that if there were a God I would be sent to Hell for killing myself. My Grandma died this past Christmas and there was a lot of pain, anger, and envy. There was pain because I am human and hated the thought of her being gone; there was anger because she should have passed a lot sooner but medicine and her kids kept her alive. I should not say this so cold-heartedly because honestly I would have a hard time letting my mom go too. I could see in her eyes she was very clearly ready to go and when she did there was relief, but still the pain and anger. The envy was something I feel is a bit abnormal. I envied her because she was able to cross over and not worry about Hell existing. I am sure I said it to my daughters mom too many times how much I envied my grandma. It was a really hard winter. But the main point is, I suck at death, and I really am sorry to those I cannot clearly express condolences to. I do feel bad and know how loss feels, I just suck a lot at the expression.
Life comes in 3’s. I have experienced much of what is criticized in women’s rights movements today. I gave birth to the baby of a rape and chose adoption, as any pro-lifer would say is the mysteries of how God works. I am assuming pro-lifers would say this because a couple were able to adopt a baby. Reality is, is that couple would have probably ended up with a child sooner or later, and they actually ended up with two more. I also experienced what it feels like to be at that point where you have only one way out and being pregnant could close the doors that could lead you out of an abusive relationship. I could have chosen adoption again, however his family would have never agreed to it, and they had a lot of money and were a fairly well-known name around the area. I am not trying to make excuses, after all, I have admitted that it was honestly the best thing I could have done for myself, and where I am at today, I know this to be completely true. Abortion is not all what pro-lifers make it out to be. When done in the first six weeks like I had it done, it was literally a little spot, a zygote. This is not saying I agree completely with abortion. I do not believe it should be used as a means of birth control because that is not good for a woman’s body at all. I believe after the second trimester it should definitely be illegal, after all, it is than a baby in my eyes. I still debate on the second trimester. I can understand for medical reasons for sure. However, this post is not to debate my beliefs, but to tell the third of the 3’s, the daughter I have today.
When I got pregnant with my daughter I had moved back to the shitty small town my parents retired to. I was living in a really shitty trailer with really bad water working at a pizza parlor that were both owned by the same guy. He pretty much owned the town. It’s a great way to feel owned when the guy you buy your liquor, food, water, and housing from also pays your paycheck (very minimum wage). Its a dog like feeling, but smart on his end. I was beat down by life in every sense. I went to work at a low paying job that left me just enough money after bills to buy booze and weed. Work was where I ended up meeting the sperm donor, we both liked to drink and smoke so that is pretty much what the whole relationship was. As any drunken depressed uncaring spree will get someone, I found out I was pregnant. There was fear, but also not. I actually barely had the energy to care. I quickly chose adoption because I was too broke to afford another abortion and no way did I want to parent. When I told my parents I was pregnant, they gave me two options, I go to a catholic maternity home in a small desolate town that they found and they would support me, or I don’t and they would have nothing to do with me. My parents have always been great at parenting (sarcasm). My parents thought I would come out of the home a happy catholic woman. I did end up happy in life, however, not because of the home. In fact, I will never step foot in another catholic church again because of them. There is a lot that went on there that I will not dive into as it’s not the point of this blog, however, I got out as soon as I could.
When I got to the maternity home I knew I needed a job, after all, I was having trouble with the sperm donor not signing his rights away. Apparently for adoption sperm donors need to sign away their rights also and not just the birthmother, the problem was he wanted to parent. I think it was at the point where I realized there was a chance I would have to parent that I starting caring about my life. I would never agree to give him custody, after all, he was high on meth pretty consistently. Since I knew there was a chance of parenting I knew I need to find work so I could provide because I did not want to live on welfare. I started work at a local gas station till I could find something better and I eventually found work as a carrier at the post office. Right when I got the post office I left the maternity home, so within a couple months I would say of moving there. I got my own apartment and was getting ahead enough that I could take care of my daughter if I had to. When I started the post office I was around five months pregnant and made sure to keep my head down. I worked as hard as I could during probation. I knew that if the post master found out I was pregnant he would find any small reason to let me go, after all, it would be an inconvenience for him. Probation was 90 working days or 120 days together, whichever came first. When I got pregnant I was 156, with all the walking I did I stayed roughly around that mark, in fact I lost weight a bit, so I didn’t show during probation. I think I was gaining baby weight as I was losing body fat. By month seven I started gaining weight and clearly showed. My postmaster had given me great reviews by than so he really had no valid reason to let me go when he found out, and I explained to him I chose adoption so I wouldn’t need leave. I am not bragging but when I gave birth I was almost 180, two weeks after birth I was 130. I always said Black Chyna had nothing on me.
I worked hard at the post office and gas station till I gave birth. I started loving the shit out of my unborn daughter. The adoption plan was all over the place and it was a long hassle of going back and forth with the sperm donor who kept falling off the grid. Once I got around the 6th month mark my adoption counselor and I decided I needed to start looking at families to at least have an idea who I wanted to choose and to let the potential family know the risks of everything going on. The sperm donor finally signed his rights away the Friday before I was scheduled to meet my daughters parents. Things get hazy here because I went into false labor before I even had a chance to meet them. I say false labor but I was dilating and having contractions less than five minutes apart. I was injected with steroids for my daughters lungs when this first happened and given medicine to stop the contractions. I knew she was going to be early, however at the time, I was barely 7 months along. So the way I met my daughters parents was not the most ideal of ways, they brought me candy though. I like candy. I liked them a lot, however, hated them when my daughter was born a month later.
There is a moment when you hold up your baby onto your bare chest, whom you have loved and talked to throughout your pregnancy, that you realize you would do anything for them. This moment can barely be explained in words other than just love, the purest of loves.
With adoption, this is also the scariest and most painful time as well. I knew that because I loved my baby so much is why I needed to give her up to a family that would provide. I was scared and full of pain, but also relieved from not being pregnant anymore. I remember when my daughters parents came into my hospital room to meet her, I hated them. I had met them before and we had really hit it off, being very into a lot of the same interests and complete wierdos. When the moment came for them to meet my daughter though, all I could do was hate her soon to be mom. I did not want them anywhere close to her. I have often wondered if I have a potent aura, because I seem to give off what I am feeling fairly easy and I’m pretty sure they felt it. I had been very dead set on about the adoption, after all, I knew I was in no position to give my daughter what she needed and deserved. I did not want either of us to depend on welfare. I did not want her to be in daycare with strangers. I wanted her to have a future and an education that didn’t cost her a lifetime of debt. I had spent my pregnancy set on adoption, however when I held her in my arms I could barely fathom letting her go. I looked for every reason to not choose her parents, even the shallowest of reasons. I did not want to say goodbye to my daughter. Those three days I spent in the hospital they spent wondering why they were not good enough. Ironically, it was the opposite. I knew they were better than me and could give my daughter everything I couldn’t. The pain of leaving the hospital without her was pure agony and the only way I was able to handle it was to tell myself I could go and get her anytime and that I just needed the weekend to figure it all out. Inside I knew this to be a lie, but it’s how I coped those next few days. Sometimes I do need to fool myself temporarily to get past emotions. Obviously everything worked out amazing as they are my best friends now, but damn I’m a bitch sometimes.
Life works in 3’s, pregnancy via rape that leads to adoption (a prolifer would say god works in mysterious ways), abortion to get out of a very abusive relationship (prochoicers would say this is a great example) and getting pregnant while waiting to die that in turn woke me up and gave me strength. Personally I feel people need to mind their own business and need to stop being so extreme. There have been no easy paths in my life, however, I do feel stable paths forming.
I apologize if this blog is a bit all over the place, I really tried to piece it together correctly to where it makes sense. In 65 days I have literally told all about my life and who I am. I do feel very healed in many ways but there is still healing left of the little girl I suppose. Well, I suppose I have blogged for two hours so now need to get to work. Have a great day everyone. Be good to yourself.
Hey guys, so here is another video. I enjoy that I can talk to you guys so it feels more personal, however if this is not working for some of you, please let me know. When looking at my stats it seems like it still stays fairly average. I like that vloging gives me more self confidence to express myself and I feel it helping a lot with my speech class. However, if any of you do not like it, please say something.
I cannot say I am doing well, however I can say that I am average. It is so easy for my daughters mother to say see a therapist, honestly though after about the eighth one I realized that the reason I can’t be helped is because psychology just isn’t there yet with understanding my trauma. I read up on a lot of studies continuously but until children are full grown they cannot get accurate studies. They understand more than a decade ago, but not enough. Eventually I just get tired of test after test and having to reexplain myself over and over again. I feel like a social experiment sometimes. I have often thought what it would be like if someone where to jump out and yell “JOKES! It was all an experiment! Here is a pill to make you all better!” But alas, that is not realistic. This also makes me wonder what it would be like if I did have the choice to start over. If I could grow up in an ideal situation and achieve my goals, would I? What if going with the first family my birthmother chose happened and I never went to the villages. What if I grew up in a really nice safe neighborhood and had a lot of friends and was a straight A student. What if this family had all my college paid for? Would I choose it? My daughters parents would have had another mother choose them, probably one a lot more stable. They wouldn’t always have to deal with my moods. My family wouldn’t have had to deal with my moods because they would have never known me. My little sister could have been their only daughter which I am sure would have made her happy. I can say that my past has shaped me to be the kind of person I am today, whether thats good or bad depends on the day. Although I try to stay strong, I feel the depressive episodes getting worst and harder to handle, even if momentarily. I feel like there is a tear that is slowly growing with the more weight set upon it. I had a couple beers this past weekend but nothing anything major. I know stress is a major trigger of these moods. Stress will always be there. I feel this episode fading away for good. However, that does not change the fact that it was a pretty bad one that kept coming back. The thought in itself is scary.
Note to self, never leave bacon in the work fridge for breakfast the next day…it will not be there when you are ready for it….how rude.
I woke up feeling okay but would have preferred NOT to come to work. It is rainy and gloomy, the perfect studying weather. I wanted to curl up with Bailey and relax all day. I am not a fan of the sun most days so want to fully enjoy the days it is not out.
I dreamt I was a mail carrier again. It has been a while since I had that dream, it was the end of fall when the trees are falling asleep and theres some snow on the ground. I was at my daughters home and was very excited. I loved dressing up for the cold, there was always a special satisfaction I got from knowing I was about to brave the elements. The whole dream was pretty much about getting ready, the sun was somewhat out, it was the perfect fall day. My daughter and her parents were eating breakfast in the kitchen and I had so much energy from excitement. I remember I ran out the door but than had to run back in and get my satchel from the entryway closet. I kissed them all goodbye and left out the door, and that was that.
I was very excited when I transferred from my last post office to here. I was excited to be near my daughter and her parents plus I was happy to be part of an office with a strong union I could be involved in. The post office was all a love/hate relationship for me. I enjoyed learning more about my rights and aspired to be a representative one day. I loved going to meetings. I was not always this way, in fact I didn’t join the union at first. I was part of the clerk union when I worked overnights. I was a PSE which was a non-career for clerks. When I was a carrier I was a CCA, also a non-career, just carrier form. Both are bullshit but the post office pretty much used the red numbers to prove they couldn’t afford to pay workers benefits and a higher wage. Really the post office doesn’t operate in the red, they are actually doing pretty well, it’s just that when congress made them pre-fund retirement up to 70 (75? Im old) years they started operating in the red. I should also mention that even though they didn’t feel they could pay workers benefits AND a decent wage, they could still pay their top dogs 6 figure digits and management more than a worker maxed out on pay. Who am I to question that though? It’s all just bullshit and games. Anyways, I was a very proud carrier and proud to be part of the NALC. As I said before though, I did not join at first. I was one of the first hired for the PSE position back in the day and the clerk union didn’t do much for us. We were a new breed and there was a lot of confusion to exactly what our rights were….so pretty much we had none so to say, at least none that the union helped us with. So when I became a carrier I told the rep who spoke to us how worthless the union was and irrelevant. I still remember her (the rep) standing and looking down at me, she was actually kinda scary but at the same time made me want to debate. She was tall and had her blonde hair in a ponytail. It was the beginning of summer so she was wearing shorts and a button up blue collar short sleeve shirt. The more we debated the more she played with her arrow key. She eventually said she wasn’t going to talk about it anymore…pretty sure I ruined her day. It’s all good though because this lady has also come to be a friend of mine and we can laugh about it now. I can honestly say the first couple months of being here I was the happiest I had ever been in life. I lived with my daughter and her parents till I could find a place. I eventually found a place but the same month that I did my back and left knee really started acting up. I would go home at the end of the day and my knees would be extremely swollen and many nights I had to have my daughters mom massage my lower back. This is probably where I used wine a little too much to self medicate. Well I eventually went to the doctor at the end of October when my insurance kicked in. The doctor took scans and found my knee and back disk to be spurring, thus causing cartilage loss which in turn caused arthritis. All this was on my left side which was my satchel side. He started physical therapy and I started fighting the PO for FMLA and OWCP. The FMLA wasn’t too bad to get, just a lot of documentation, but the workmans comp for a CA-2 should have been a lot easier than it was. The PO just kept fighting it. I needed the workmans comp because management would take me off the schedule otherwise and I still needed to work because I had bills. They gave me the bare minimum which was still not enough for bills and I could not find a different job because that would effect the OWCP. The physical therapy helped but than work pretty much worked against the improvement, I was getting nowhere and my mania was trickling back inside. I was overly stressed about bills, luckily I had my daughters parents there to help me. Mid-November the doctor told my aunt (the only one I love and care about) that she had stage four cancer, this hit my family hard. My grandmas health took a turn for the worst during this time as well. She was old and developed a bed sore. My aunt had taken her in multiple times for this sore and the nurses would dab it and put a bandage over it and tell her she was fine. Well, my mom and aunt ended up taking her to a good hospital in Bismarck and they found out that the bedsore had spread all the way to her spine, it was like an upside down cone. There was nothing they could do. I will NEVER accept free healthcare because of shit like that, reservation hospitals are shitty and most of the people who work in them are only there for the loan buyback. There is so much racism in those hospitals and a lot of the workers look at natives as being stupid dogs. So between work and home-life I never had a break. Mid December my mom signed the DNR for my grandma because she was on her last days. I went and said goodbye, that was really hard. I loved my grandma a lot and I hated seeing her that way. I hated how much she suffered that last year. During this same week my birth sister decided to put up a poster looking for me on FB. My brothers ex wife saw it and showed me. It was all a mental fuck seeing your baby picture and seeing a girl who looked exactly like you. I was excited at first, but I also was not in a good mental state at all and not thinking clearly. I ended up talking to her for a while and learned more about my birth family. Well my grandma died right before Christmas and my family became really depressed. I actually had to end up not calling my parents for awhile because they would say the most hurtful things such as “please don’t give up another baby, we can’t handle it,” type shit among others. (Mind you, my mom had no problem telling me how she didn’t think I could handle parenting when I didn’t know if I would have to.) After Christmas I was getting almost no hours because after the holidays mail is slow. I still couldn’t get another job because of the OWCP so I was getting more and more stressed. I eventually gave up. It was a huge breather to say I was done. But than came the sense of loss. I was already still depressed over my family but than lost everything inside me that had made me, me. When I was a carrier it was my life, I would work all day and work on union things at night. I would help other CCA’s who needed info and learn all that I could about my rights and others. I was a carrier day in and day out and never left work at work. So when I quit, I had a major identity crisis. This is when I started pretty much drinking myself to death. I was barely hanging on and a buddy of mine hired me to work at Aarons. I didn’t like working there at all but it paid bills for a few months. I went to Force games for fun but could not find a point to my life. I was pretty close to being dead many nights. A good thing that did happen during this time was my aunt found out that her stage four cancer was actually two cancers, a stage one and two, she ended up beating the cancer and is doing very well. I eventually got the job I do now and things ended up taking a big turn for the better. I was still abusing alcohol though, thus why I did the month of sobriety when I started this blog. Now I am doing very well, but as one can easily see, I still fight my daily battles. I am happy though. My daughters mom said that if someone is at least 60% happy than thats still happy. So I suppose, even though my job sucks a lot most days, I am still going to school and still have my daughter and her parents, I am happy. I have a few friends I chat with, I just need to keep on pushing through the bad.
Now that life is settling down I really do need to be healthy. I feel like nature is off these days, I feel a weird pressure. Oh well, time to work. I need to find some breakfast….grrr…who stole my bacon….Well, I haven’t said this a lot lately, but BE GOOD TO YOURSELF. I have not been following this advice so therefor have not been saying it. It doesn’t feel like me, so I will start saying it again. I need to focus on school and my health. Have a good day everyone, fucking two days left after today than FOUR DAY WEEKEND!
Kitten asked me to describe her briefly so that she could use that as a basis for at least one blog entry. As her baby mama, I feel like I know her pretty well so I’m in a good position to do so. Let’s get to it, shall we? The words I would use to describe her personality are dichotomy, juxtaposition, and contradiction. What I mean by that is she will go back and forth between two opposite personality traits and often leave me guessing or scratching my head in confusion. I’ll give some examples.
When Kitten decided she wanted to live in the same city we were in, she had her transfer request in at the post office and was listing stuff that she didn’t want to move on Facebook within two hours. So one would almost think impulsivity and quick decision making was a dominant trait, but I’ve gone shopping with her. We spent an hour in one aisle of a store looking at notebooks. We spent a half hour in a grocery store picking out just the right ranch dressing. There is a very deliberate nature to the most mundane of decisions.
Kitten says she hates kids, but got excited over a cute baby when we were out to eat. She’s always reminding me that I’m a super nerd and that she’s cool and went to a lot of parties back in the day; yet she does math for fun, quotes Star Wars, plays RPGs and strategy games, and unknowingly road rages in iambic pentameter.
She is strong, but not tough. She has had life beat her down and she’s still here. Still standing. Still going strong when others would have given up ages ago. But at the same time, the smallest of things can majorly affect her. I’ve seen her break down over the notion that she has a single white hair on her head (she doesn’t, and I learned the hard way that she also doesn’t take kindly to jokes) or over disagreeing with her on whether or not a singer is good.
Kitten is very magnetic and can engage just about anyone in a conversation, but gets justifiably freaked out around new people or in crowds. At the same time, she has said that she likes getting lost in crowds too. She likes cities, but misses the stars when she is actually in one. Kitten has seen the worst of people but tends to want to give people a chance all the same. She hates people, but yearns for acceptance and belonging. She claims to be a bitch, but is, in fact, one of the kindest, most generous people I know. Especially towards her daughter, my husband, and me.
I think what I’m trying to say through all of my various examples is that she’s difficult to describe fully and completely. She continues to surprise and amaze and yes, frustrate me daily. I wouldn’t change a thing.
I wonder if they cried…. I wonder if I cried…
Those were the questions I asked myself when I read about the priest scandals in Pennsylvania. I remember very specific details of the man who molested me the most. I can remember being on top and him showing me what to do, so I am assuming that was probably the first time with that position. Often times he would be on top. I can recall him forcing me to suck him. I don’t remember if I cried however, or when the first time was. I know the ages I was in his care. From a psychological point of view I am assuming it was so traumatic I blocked out as many moments as I could. I remember a lot though over the course of abuse so I guess my mind didn’t do too well on forgetting. I cried yesterday evening when my daughters mom brought up the priests. I did not cry for myself but for my daughter. I watched my daughter laugh and scream with glee while eating dinner and realized if she would have been me the light in her eyes would have already gone dark. It does piss me off evil like that exists in this worst, its worst when its babies. I will never step foot into a catholic church again. The catholic maternity home I was at while pregnant is what decided this, however I can swear by it now. I still wonder though, did I cry?
Failure…why does that work scare me so much? It can only happen if I let it at this point, so I will try my best to not succumb to my mind.
Today will be a busy day. I have orientation early this morning and decided to sleep in longer than I should have. I blame Bailey since he was so comfortable. I will be going school shopping later this afternoon and to do a good amount of cleaning and organizing. I am going to be making my second room into an office so I have no distractions when studying. My eating has been a go to habitual stress reliever….so not healthy and not good. Once things settle down I know everything will fall into place, I just have to keep my head above water till than. I know I will have to watch for effects to drinking too much a lot more since the repercussions of that will be not doing well school wise. I gave Bailey a bath yesterday so he is so soft and no longer smells like a swamp dog. The cats are doing well. I think Pip is aging, he is a couple years old so he’s getting up there fish wise. I planned to write more but considering I am hard on time I will end it here. I hope everyone has a great day. Its Friday so that’s nice. 🙂