Hang on...It's getting bumpy

I find myself having a hard time keeping it together. I feel the world collapsing on my shoulders and I curl up into a ball to hide.

These last couple weeks have been tough, but they have seemed hard for a while now. I had a very difficult time with the roommate I had for two months. She left at the last minute leaving damages and being extremely vulgar. I dated a guy for about a month; who I thought I really liked, he asked to go to church with me and we went to the Shawn McDonald concert, until I found out he had a girlfriend! I dumped him to the curb! So done with men...again! Those two things I can get over and easily dismiss from my life.

I have had a hard time with finances since not having a roommate. I had to borrow twenty dollars for gas to get to Thanksgiving and don't know how I'm going to make mortgage every month. The big topper is the last couple times I got my oil changed, they did not put enough oil in it. They only gave me 4.5 quarts when my car requires 8.5. My oil light came on and they told me it was a sensor problem. I went back in to have them look at it a week later and they said they didn't put enough oil in. Now, my new car is about to seize and they will not admit fault. I will have to get an attorney and sue them. In the meantime, I have no money and no other car. Sometimes I wish I had someone on my team, someone to walk with me and help hold up the world.

I don't ask much of people and I have worked hard for everything I have. I don't expect anything of anyone and I try to help others in any way I can. Unfortunately people take advantage of this and walk on me. I find myself getting bitter when I see people complain about things I would be so grateful to receive. People that don't work, yet seem to have everything paid for and support from every angle. People that have big families and their parents want them around, but they get annoyed by that.

All we really need is to be loved by someone.
I have not spoke to my mother in 5 years because she hates me, no exaggeration (see first blog). My father will have us around. I understand that he is a different breed and I have tried to accept his way of communicating, but I just know the discomfort with our presence is there. For example; on Thanksgiving evening I poured my heart out to him crying so hard I could barely talk. How I felt unloved, how when I call him upset I wish he would pretend to care. I told him about how I lost my virginity by being raped at 16. How hurt I was that my mother could be so cruel to me while he sat and watched. I told him how hurt I felt that nobody wanted me growing up. He sat there emotionless, while his wife explained that she had a rough life too and I need to find other people to care about me. The next day nothing was spoke of the conversation and I started doing my homework after taking the girls rollerskating. It was as soon as her granddaughter left, I heard my father and stepmother whispering in the kitchen. She was asking him how soon I would be leaving as if implying to get me out. I had not even been there 24 hours. My dad walks into the dining room, asking me when I will be going home. I said today I guess. He said okay, but what time? I said now. I packed my stuff and we left.
I am not trying to play a victim here, because I really don't think that gets anybody anywhere. I just hope by writing this, I can get my hurts out of my head and heart and possibly someone can understand. I just don't understand why it has to hurt so bad to try and build a loving relationship with a family member? It shouldn't be like this. I find as a result this communication disablement has spilled over into my adult life of trying to build satisfying relationships with men and friends. I find myself seeking after men that I must prove myself to in order to be accepted. Luckily I recognize this and don't build these relationships, but I still find myself unconsciously drawn.
Am I making a big deal out of nothing? Do I have justification for being upset? I am confused. I want so badly to feel loved and wanted by someone not sexually. Yes sometimes, I wish I could borrow $50 from someone when I don't have food in the fridge. This is my fantasy life. Others may wish for riches and fame, but mine is simple. Please don't take for granted what you have, realize how blessed you are for the people that fill it. Yes, I know I should do the same, and I am grateful...but sometimes I just need a good cry.

 

Begining

So my first post was just my first essay from school, thought I would post it. I am going to start writing a book...in my "free" time. This will probably end up being a chapter in it.
School is going pretty well so far. This week I have been slacking on my studies and it might catch up to me soon if I don't pick up the pace. I think I am getting a 4.0 in all 3 of my classes right now, but that could change at any moment!!
Things are looking better. My hell of a roommate moved out this week! Thank you God! Things are much less stressful now. Working full time still, which consists of me coming in on the weekends now too. Taking 3 classes at Cascadia in pursuit of nursing. I am enjoying my time right now. :-) But, I am looking forward to having some time off on the holidays. Not to stress over Alex and I's homework for a little bit.
Well I have got to get my butt to the gym for a quick run! More later...

Just one of the many days

The aroma of fresh cut grass, birds chirping and the angelic sun poking its beaming kisser through our curtains awaken us with a desire to live life abundantly. This is the weather we wait for every winter, when we delight in dancing outside. The Pacific Northwest people subsequently come out of hibernation and the attitude in the community seems elated. The beauty that this area claims is breath-taking; love at first sight. The mountains to the East are nothing short of majestic and the sound possessing the San Juan Islands to the West are impressively spectacular. The summers never last long enough in Washington and this means taking every advantage possible of what it offers. While most were enjoying these luxuries, this year was an abnormal adventure for me.

It is the summer of 1997 in my modest home town of Lynden, Washington. I am 16 years old and approaching my junior year of high school. It is another warm night in August and I advance the house in the pitch-black. The grass in the yard comes to my waist and as I trudge through it I ignore my fears with mental distraction. I stumble through the lawn in search of an entrance. While most homes in the area were equipped with alarm systems, this one did not so much as include a lock. There is no electricity; no heat, no lights and no running water. The roof is caved in, but fortunately only affecting the top floor. The house and I share something in common, both rejected, left without concern.
As I near the back door, I brave my nightmare and make way into the abandoned home. I have been staying here for a month now and it has become commonplace. Sleeping in these conditions is definitely unsanitary; the mattress was left from former residents and the spiders or anything else that wanders in it is nearly horrifying. Nonetheless, to me it is almost luxurious and comforting. I found a place to call mine, somewhere I could count on laying my head. Before I discovered this house, I was always uncertain of where I could sleep that night. The anxiety and embarrassment of having to ask friends on a continual basis is more than enough to ruin my peer acceptance. I find my way to the mattress; it is empty and I fall sleep.
“You are under arrest” a women’s voice announces.
What is someone doing here so early in the morning I thought? I can’t make out what she is saying as I am still in a dreamlike state, but the tone is harsh.
“Get up and pack your stuff, you are under arrest for trespassing” she announces once again.
As I attempt to slowly open my eyes I notice that familiar blue uniform standing at the edge of the room. She stands; with all the arrogance a female can cultivate and directs me to get up. This isn’t the first charge I have received for being in this house, but it would be the last. As I gather my stuff I realize I am more annoyed that I didn’t get to finish my sleep than getting another charge. I don’t know what other choices I have but to stay here. Our town does not offer resources for people like me. Sometimes life can seem unfair, like everyone is against you. I don’t have anywhere to turn and each place I do seems to be the wrong path. She puts the handcuffs on me and took me to the car.
We drive to the police station on the other side of town.
“I am going to have to search through your bags” The officer tells me.
She searches through my bags and finds a couple smoking pipes. One pipe my grandfather had given me. The other, I used to smoke marijuana.
“Well, look what we have here” she said “these will cost you a paraphernalia possession charge.”
She seems a little too excited for this discovery. She leaves to another room and returns a few minutes later.
“Out of the kindness in my heart, I am going to do you a favor; I am not going to take you to jail” she informs me. “I am going to take you to your parent’s house and I expect that you stay out of trouble.”
Later I find out the jail did not have room for such petty charges and it nothing to do with the kindness in any heart. Although, I think jail would have been safer than home.
She proceeds to drive me to my parent’s house.
I thought this should be interesting; the last couple times the authorities brought me here, my mother told them to take me somewhere else. She had never really wanted me around, from as far as I can remember, and I ended up on the streets from normal teenage misbehavior. She must have been in a good mood, because this time she let me in.
My mother was only 18 when she gave birth to me and according to her, I ruined her life. She let me know it constantly. From birth on out, it seemed that I could do no good. I was an honor roll student, submissive and cleaned the house regularly for her. Nothing could gain her approval or affection. When I did well, she was jealous. When I did wrong she told me I destroyed the family. As far as I can remember; I never received a hug or heard the words “I love you.” She would often let me know how much she hated me and how I crushed her life. It seemed they were always looking for a good excuse to get rid of me and each time I misbehaved was a good enough reason.
The police officer took me to the house and dismisses me here. The fears drove up in me and nothing made me more afraid than my mother’s wrath. She had a way of looking at me that seem to make my soul burn, to make everything in me rise up and run for safety. Ironically, parents and home is where you allegedly go for safety.
My mother brought me into the bedroom nearest the front door. She sat me down next to her on the bed. She is wearing a white pajama top and blue cotton pants. She is a large woman and she often walked around all day in only this top. Normally, she did not wear a bra or pants with this shirt even though it was quite see through. It was embarrassing when friends would come to visit and she refused to change demanding it was her house. This time though she had been decent enough to cover herself, assumingly because the police were there. Her hair is fried blonde and the look in her eyes is fierce.
“You are such a stupid, no good, waste of space” she says “I hate you and wish you were never born!”
She continues to call me every foul name she knows and makes me feel worse about who I am than anyone ever has or could.
The anger and hurt rise up in me and I want to scream back at her. I am completely infuriated. I don’t know whether to scream, run or cry. I don’t scream, but I cry. I am staring at a small doll on the ground that belongs to my little sister. The yelling and put downs continue. I pick up the little doll and throw it at her leg. I run out of the house crying so hard I can barely catch a breath. I feel so alone, so unwanted and unloved. I have no one to turn to. I am hysterical; I do not know what to do anymore.
Soon after running outside, my mother follows me.
“I’m so sorry Joanna” she states apologetically “I should not have said those horrible things, will you please forgive me?”
I thought this is weird; my mother does not admit fault and seldom apologizes. Nevertheless, I accept it and forgive her immediately. I am relieved and grateful.
“I want you to go to church with your father” she proceeds to tell me.
They were leaving for church in a few minutes. I hurry to get ready and leave with my family. My mother stays home alone.
After a couple hours we return from service.
“I have a surprise for you!” my mother cheers in a joyful and excited manner.
“A surprise?” I contemplate; this seems very odd, why would she be giving me a surprise?
I become hopeful that my mother has decided to attempt a new disposition. I am enthusiastic about this surprise. Maybe she knew it was time to try a new road and possibly rebuild a relationship. Maybe she feels so bad about everything that’s happened. What could it possibly be?
Not more than 5 minutes later, the same police officer shows up at the door. My heart is crushed. I am vulnerable, paralyzed and powerless. This is my surprise? What have I done? Once again I feel helpless.
“You are under arrest for assault” the officer tells me “this time you will be going to jail.”
She proceeds to put the handcuffs on me and take me out to the car.
“Assault…jail?” I question her “what did I do, I don’t understand what is going on?”
“The object you threw at your mother caused a large bruise and cut” she explains.
I was baffled. How could that little plastic doll have caused a cut or bruise? She didn’t complain of any pain before I left. I don’t understand but I accept it and am sent to juvenile hall.
I spend 3 days in the cell because it is Labor Day weekend and the courts are not open. While in here, I consider the events that took place. They still do not make sense to me. How did I possibly cause that much harm? I start putting all the pieces together and it all starts to make sense.
She had harmed and cut herself to have me sent away and to create herself as a victim.