This is a picture of me and my children, taken sometime in December of 1998. The twins were almost a year old, and I gave them up for (open) adoption at birth. Alexa was in kindergarten. (Lord have mercy, she's 12 now.) This was the last time I've seen them in person but I have photo albums full of pictures, report cards, etc. It's not quite the same, of course, but I take pride in my children, even though they are not raised by me. They have two wonderful and loving parents that were not only blessed, but who have blessed my life as well for being who they are. They are truly wonderful, kind people who are also probably very tired. LOL. The babies will be 8 in February.
I also want to take this time to say thank you to the people who have left me such warm comments about me making the President's list. I could not be more proud of myself right now, given the place that I come from. My life was never easy and the odds were stacked against me, but I made it, not without the help of some very patient and faithful family members. Thank God for them is all I have to say.
Now, I want to get to the good stuff. I have a problem and it's driving me crazy. See, I like to go shopping from time to time, but I aboslutely hate being around all those people. I have a tendency to get a little anxious in public, but I can control that. What I cannot control are the surges of anger and animosity I get toward people for the simplest things. I am not kidding. There have been times when I have wanted to punch people in the face for stuff. Here's a few examples:
Last night, I had a Christmas party to go to with Lee and I needed something to wear, so I went to Wal-mart with my gift card and was hurriedly looking through their selection. I was in the process of desperately flinging shirts around, trying to find something that did not have bunny rabbits, fruit, or the american flag on it, when I saw out of my peripheral vision, this woman coming right in my direction. My first thought was, shit, I'm going to have to move. My next thought was, literally, fuck her. I was here first. She kept coming closer and closer to me and I kept getting more and more anxious and irritable (this is what it's always like) and then I did a double take. Laying on the bottom of the cart, where you put your twelve packs of soda and stuff, was a kid, a boy, probably not any older than eight. Just laying there, screwing around. His mom, or whoever was pushing the cart, didn't seem to notice or to think that this was dangerous in any way. I tried to ignore them by standing my ground and going through the t shirts some more, and then I decided it was a lost cause. I grabbed my cart and intended to push it out of the corner where I was, and it happened. What I call the Grocery Store Mexican Standoff. No one's moving. She wants to stay and I want to go. Or does she just not want to put forth the effort to maneuver her way through the racks and whatnot to get to the other side of the aisle? At this point, she's too close to me for my comfort and I don't give a shit, so I rattle my cart a bit in an effort to get her to move the fuck over so I can get out. At this point, the kid on the bottom of the cart says loudly, "Excuse us."
What? What the fuck did you just say to me, you little fucking brat? In a state of total anxiety ridden terror, the kid damn near had his head taken off by the front of my cart as I shoved past his rude ass. His mom never once made eye contact with me, just kept looking around at the store, wide eyed and dazed. I almost expected to see her tap her feet together and chant, "There's no place like home, there's no place like home," the bitch was so out of it. I thought to myself, how in the hell do you allow your kids to talk to people that way? I would smack my kid right in the head if she ever did that. To a perfect stranger. Unbelievable. Parents like that are the reason why our teenagers do not respect authority, do drugs, and have no empathy for human life. Is it any surprise? I think not.
And since I'm rambling on and on, I'd also like to point out that I am very bad in the grocery store, or any store. I tend to get hostile....to myself. I never act hostile because even I know that would be crazy, but I think it. I think the most awful thoughts like, get away from me, asshole and no, you don't need to come down here. You don't NEED to come down here. Shit! They're coming down here. I hate you people. All of you. See, I don't like strangers getting too close to me, so when I'm standing in line somewhere and someone is literally standing so close to my back that the front of their shoes are touching the ends of mine, we have a problem. I don't want to smell what you had for dinner on your breath. That is too close. I don't want to hear what you say when you whisper. That is also too close. Why do people do that anyway? Don't they know that we Americans like to have at least 7 feet of personal space when dealing with strangers? For me it's even more than that, but there's nothing I can do about it because I realize that I'm the one who's not normal and I just deal with it. I usually forget about the frustration and anxiety on the ride home, but it can be trying sometimes. Lynn has told me that her grocery store anxiety is so bad sometimes that she has left carts full of things in the aisle and just left. I wouldn't be able to do that because #1: I have to finish what I started, #2: It's a sign of weakness if I don't, and #3: I'll be damned if I'm going to show weakness to anyone. Bottom line is, I'm harder on myself than anyone else ever could be.
New subject: My mother died in 1981, when I was 4. It was an unexpected, tragic death for everyone. I did not know until I was 14 that I had a sister...that my mother had had a baby girl before she had me and had put her up for adoption. It wasn't until I was 21 that I actually met her. She is Michelle, my most awesome sister. Not the mean drunk sister. The cool one who is a lot like me, and in essence, must be just like my mother. She looks like my mother and we both have the same quirks so I have to assume that my mother was nuts, too. I don't really know much about my mother. The only thing I know is that she was adopted, had contact with her birth family, and was a hot blonde with great legs. I had the great legs until I got fat. LOL. I also know she was a prankster and was a Daddy's girl, which pissed off my Aunt Anne more than anything. Aunt Anne was adopted also, and she and my mother are the same age. Anne was largely ignored by my grandparents because of all of my mother's shenanigans that got her kicked of out schools, etc. Anne went on to get good grades and was quiet and no trouble at all. My mother got pregnant for me, and then right afterwards Anne got pregnant with my cousin, Mary. Thus began a war that Anne started, which I call, "my kid, your kid." Anne began doing all kinds of petty things to my mother, like slashing her tires and stealing her baby shower presents. My mother retaliated by doing nothing about the fact that Anne knowingly married her first cousin. (Gross. Gross. Gross. I mean first biological cousin, not the adopted family.) When Anne called my mother in a panic, screaming that her husband had tied her to a chair and taped her mouth shut and left her in the garage, my mother hung up the phone laughing so hard she cried. I was born in May, Mary in July. Then Anne got pregnant again and had Elizabeth, who was born in March of 1979. Elizabeth and I are extremely close. Mary and I are not, but we see each other from time to time and I enjoy being in her company very much, but we just don't have much in common. Not only that, but Anne spent all their lives talking me down, how I was worthless, that I would amount to nothing, that our grandparents, who have money, were wasting it on me. I was going to end up in prison someday. I had so many mental issues there weren't enough psychologists to fix them, blah blah blah. (I also feel that I should point out that while Anne was running around telling everyone that her sister's baby was damaged goods, she was divorcing her husband/cousin and decided to wear one of my mother's dresses to my mother's funeral, which almost caused my drunk, mean sister to beat the living shit out of her. But that's another story).
So anyway, Anne has spent all 28 years of my life treating me like shit and talking me down. I am not sure why but the only thing I can deduce is that she's jealous. Her I.Q. is really not that high and neither is Elizabeth's. She's not very attractive, she's rather loud and masculine. No matter what I do, it's not good enough for her. If she is front of other people, she will be civil to me. But when we are alone, she literally sneers at me. She really, really hates me and has since the day I was born. I gave up on her about five years ago, when my grandma went away to Canada and suddenly, inexplicably, every single picture of my mother disappeared from the house. Every single one. My grandfather, before he died, had created a photo album just for me full of pictures of my mother in various stages of growing up. He also had many pictures of her and I together. Gone. All gone. The pages were ripped out of the photo album. Not just removed, but ripped. When I noticed this, I pointed it out to my grandma, who was immediately shocked and began wondering aloud if she had done it herself. I said, "No, Grandma. Who was watching your house while you were in Canada? And did they have a key?" She said, "Of course they had a key, to water the plants." I said, "Who was it?" She said, "Well, Anne, of course." I then exploded, screaming and carrying on about how she removed my mother's pictures. My grandmother got very upset and called her to ask her. Anne, of course, pretended she knew nothing and then suggested that perhaps my grandmother, her mother, had removed them herself because she was "getting up there in age". Then she said that maybe I removed them myself, for attention. I grabbed the phone and told her I didn't need attention that bad. The pictures were all I had left. She hung up on me.
Now, Elizabeth is going through a hard time. She is living 1000 miles away from home, letting these ghetto hoodrats stay at her house and steal her money and her belongings. She has severe emotional problems and has attempted to pass her GED tests THREE TIMES to no avail. She has not worked in over a year and I know for a fact she's into cocaine. She has had her car stolen, been beat up numerous times, and has threatened or attempted suicide more than a few times. She always calls me when she's in a bind, because we are so close, and I have been telling her for months now that she needs to come back to Michigan. I even said that she could live with me, rent free. Over the weekend, she got arrested for writing bad checks and when she was released, she called her mother. Anne, furious, told her that she was going to come back to Michigan and do it "her way" and that was it. I soothed Elizabeth by telling her that her mother would calm down eventually and that when she did, they would be able to have a rational conversation. I told her to mention that I had offered her my spare bedroom in exchange for nothing more than getting her head on straight. Elizabeth replied, "I already told her that and she said she would rather me be dead than live with you."
What? Are you serious? What the hell? Yeah, I had a brush with the law when I was 17 (for assault) and it landed my ass in jail for three months, which is right where I needed to be. I never went back. I never used drugs or drank. And my self esteem was never so low that I would let the scum of society take up residence in my house. So what the hell is so bad about me? I shuttle my daughter back and forth to her activities, arrange sleepovers, go to school, pay my bills on time, do my homework, cook dinner and occasionally breakfast, my husband works every day and he is not into drugs or alcohol, so what the hell is the problem?
Ten years ago, that would have hurt my feelings. Now, I don't give a shit. I don't care because I don't need someone who is obviously so mentally and emotionally insecure that they have to beat up someone else to feel good about themselves. And to be over fifty and doing that is beyond my comprehension. I can say that I really don't like that woman, but more than anything, I pity her. How sad it must be to be that angry at nothing. Anger is like a disease that festers and spreads until it kills all that is healthy and new. Do I have time for this? No. As my grandma would say, "Sondra, it's not your problem."
Elizabeth is flying in on Tuesday. She is supposed to leave early on Christmas morning and I have no doubt that she will. But while she's here, I hope I can talk some sense into her about leaving the situation she's in. Last night, she slept in her car because the people she let live at her house wouldn't get out when she asked them to. I'll be damned! So, hopefully she'll take me up on my offer to help her out, and if she doesn't, oh well. I guess it's not my problem.
1 comments:
you want I should bump 'um?
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