Letting Go Of The Past Isn't So Easy

   ***warning: This Blog Post Contains Content that may not be suitable for a younger crowd.**
 
    I suppose to really start to heal I have to be completely honest and accepting of my past. It isn't JUST a about finding my biological father, as I have come to realize over months of digging deep within myself.  I suppose that I've been searching for evidence that I won't end up like the one person that broke my heart the most in life, my mother.
     As I type that last sentience, my gut churns.  I know the consequences of being too honest too publicly. They will not be pleasant or inviting. However, this is my journey and after contemplating for the last week if I can do this, if I can be totally honest, I realize that I have to. I can't hide behind fear any longer.  My mother will not be happy about this, as a matter of fact, I'm not sure if she was truly thrilled when I started all of this earlier this year. She emailed me that she felt like I was making her look like a whore.  It's unfortunate that she felt that way because that wasn't my intention nor did I feel like I was portraying her in that manner. For the most part, other than the necessary basic details about my search, she wasn't an integral part of my search. This is why...from the time I realized I didn't have a father like other children, she was of absolutely no help in finding the man that shared my DNA.

"If I had known I needed a social security number before I slept with somebody...."
was a pretty standard reply in the most defensive of tones from her, even as a child as young as 8 this would be my answer.  I was laced in guilt for my birth and often carried such a tremendous sense of loneliness. 

     I don't blame her anymore. I used to.  I used to live with such anger towards this woman for all the things that took place in my childhood...the lies, the abuse, the fear, the guilt....now I just feel sorry for her.  She was 18 when she had me.  Growing up she would  remind me of how lucky I was that I wasn't living with Nuns because she didn't plan on keeping me.  In Mom's backwards way of showing her love, she would explain in detail how she would try to exterminate her pregnancy with me with no luck.

"Not even falling down the stairs, beating my stomach, or drinking...."  She would say.  "I tried to get rid of you. I didn't tell anyone but  my best friend that I was pregnant up until 2 weeks before you were born." 

    Then the story goes that the catholic church was supposed to take me away; she was never supposed to see me but she was accidentally allowed to see me by a nurse working that night in April...and she decided to keep me. 

     I see now that she wanted me to be thankful to her for not giving me up, however; when you're a small child and you're told this story the only thing you grasp from such a story is that you were never wanted.   As I said, I don't blame her anymore.  She probably didn't know better.  She thought she was doing the right thing at the time, but I can't tell you how many times as a child I prayed God would go back to the night I was born so the nurse could haul me off to the nuns down the hall. 

     My grandparents were very instrumental in raising me. I knew I was loved by them, mostly my Grandma. She took care of me the majority of the time and when my Mom left Florida and moved Georgia, I stayed with her for quite some time.  My mom then became pregnant with my sister when I was 6 and I came to live with her in Georgia.  When my little sister was  born, I was so happy.  I loved that baby so much.  So did our Mom.  She often told me she loved us both but it was different with my sister because she "had her to herself to raise".  Again, I'm sure  my Mom thought it was nothing but to a 6/7 year old all I felt was unloved and like I didn't belong in this new family.   Sometime later my Mom started to become physically abusive to me and when my brother was born, to him as well.  Again, I would pray for things to be different. 

     The first time I tried to kill myself I was in 2nd grade. This is the first time I've ever talked about this but I remember thinking that it hurt too much to live where I wasn't love, where I couldn't tell my Grandma the truth about what was happening, and to be beat for doing whatever it was that annoyed my Mom.  I remember hearing an episode of Oprah that talked about a little boy hanging himself in the closet by his belt.  I looked for a belt that afternoon and wanted to do the same thing. I wanted to just be done and maybe God would let me start over in a new life.  But, I failed.  I cried on the floor of my closet when I couldn't  even figure out how to do this the right way. I felt like a failure. I just wanted the pain to stop.  I wanted to be with my Grandma. I wanted to belong.  My  Mom never knew about that attempt. It's a good thing, she wouldn't have taken it very well.

    That's when I started having these fantasies about what my real father must be like.  As a child, it was like a fairy tale that played in my head.  One day he would discover the truth about me and rescue me.  I'm not saying my life was horrible. I know people go through much harder and tough times than I ever went through,  but it definitely was not easy.   A lot of it has been kept pushed so far down that I forgot I was holding on to such terrible memories...and now it's like they're all clawing to come out.  I think this the only way I can truly get over it and begin to find some sort of peace.

    So, this blog is a living, breathing work in progress...this blog is Me.  Thank you for reading. No matter if you're a supporter or accidentally stumbled upon it, Thank you.