I’m 32. My professional title is “homemaker”, but I prefer to be referred to as “life forming, perception developing, nurterer from heaven”. I dont think that’s too much to ask, really. I graduated high school with a C average, dropped out of culinary school and an online academy because, simply put, I didn’t wanna. Nothing about me on paper is exceptional. But, anyone who knows my story and has witnessed my transformation thinks I’m pretty neat. I haven’t much time for typing as I’m a single mom with 3 kids now, but I feel it’s my duty to share what I’ve learned with anyone who wishes to listen. As I’ve said before, I have no idea what I’m doing. The internet scares me and, technologically speaking, I’m an idiot. This is all new to me but seems a decent platform for my message. So let’s take a little ride together. Maybe we’ll all learn something new.
I’m typing this on my phone, the one with the smashed up screen, waiting in line to pick up the big kid from school. This time of day is my only quiet time as the little people sleep in the back seat. Sweet, sweet silence. Currently we reside in the lovely state of Alabama where the scenery and climate are as nice as you’ll find. The people here are nice for the most part and, let’s face it, you’re gonna find a**h**es wherever you go. Trust me. You won’t even have to look. They find you. I came here with a man. Bad, Hycaeit. BAD girl. We can’t talk about him right now though. You’ll hear about him soon enough. I spent most of my life in Minnesota. My homeland. The star of the North. Land of sky blue waters and so on and so forth. It gets chilly there but you’ll have to work damn hard to find a group of people with more integrity, work ethic, and kindness. Minnesota Nice is a mentality that is attached to my D. N. A.
I’m going to bum you out, bad, but just for a moment. I don’t talk about this a lot. I don’t tell most people because I think pity is obnoxious but, for the sake of helping another who may have experienced something similiar, I’m going to tell you my deepest source of pain. Here goes. My very first memory is of being violently raped. I won’t say who because that’s not the point. I forgot about it for a long time. My little baby brain repressed that event as soon as it could. I hadn’t reached the age of reason so I couldn’t process it. I tucked it away where I kept all of my nightmares and that’s where it stayed for 10 years. All I was left with were the feelings. The fear, the anger, the sadness, the discomfort and uneasiness, and the feeling that I was different somehow. It tortured me throughout my youth and caused me to constantly search for answers and solutions for my troubles. With no event, face, or problem to point to, an answer to fixing the sickness inside was nearly impossible to find. I was a rage filled, terrified, lunatic and I just wanted to stop breathing.
The memory began to come back as I took comfort in the warming buzz that a beer or two (or seventeen) gave me. Unfortunately, I would only recall the nightmare while I was in a state of blacked-out insanity. The tales I’d tell were relayed to me by my friends and, honestly, I didn’t know if I could believe me. The sickness grew because of this uncertainty and even more when I lost my virginity to date rape. Yep, those di*ks did it again. At that time the term “date rape” wasn’t in popular use. I remembered telling him I had no interest in that activity before we started drinking. I remember telling him I didn’t want to go that far. I blacked-out and woke up bleeding. No bueno, Bud.
Moving on. I graduated, but just barely. I moved on to new methods of escape. There was all sorts of trouble to get into and I found it all, Honey. Weeeee! Good Lord was my life awful. Holy hellfire did I feel some pain. That is until the joyous day that my Higher Power decided to force me to face it all by giving me a gift. A reason to be more than I was. Something that would make me care about my life enough to improve it. Surprise! I’m pregnant. I was 23. Thank God. I did what I thought I was “supposed to do” and that meant making a family. I slowly worked my way here. All the way down then up again. Left, right, over and under. I had to do it all to find what worked for me. I had to go through it all to find out who I was. To become who I am now. I made it, though. We all do if we don’t give up. We all end up exactly where we fit. And some will find they don’t fit anywhere, they fit everywhere.
I hope to dig a little deeper and show every one of you reading this much more of my struggle and my strengths as I develop this blog. My life has been unusual, turbulent, terrifying. It’s also been a magnificent ride. I learned a lot. I kept my eyes wide open. I watched you AND I watched me and I was aware of everyone’s part in it all. I was given certain gifts, talents, and attributes I believe have directed me here, to help you somehow. There’s much more to my story than the few words prior to this one, and I hope they inspire someone to, at the very least, hang on. Because, I got better. You can too. I’m the best I’ve ever been and every trauma meant something. Yours do to. The trick is to keep hope alive until you’re able to find the meaning.
Well, that’s it. Now, if I bummed you out too badly, have no fear! I’m working on a page of silly things that amuse me. Find it and you should be able to reclaim your smile. If it isn’t up yet, remember this, as long as you have the air in your lungs and the ability to breath it, you’re gonna be just fine.