Life Is A Series Of Unfortunate Events
A history of the me part 1 of ?????
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
I must apologize to everyone who read the first article, and probably wondered, "OK, where the hell is the rest of it?".
I am a newbie to this whole blog business, but I have started to have some revelations about my self and life in general (the blessing of growing older). I was really feeling the need to put it down on paper, except that paper didn't seem adequate enough space for this jumble of things that are running through my brain non-stop.
This will probably not be one of those places where you come to read brilliant short stories written by young geniuses...this is going to more along the lines of re-opening festering wounds. That sounds disgusting, but it's as true a thing as I can think compare it to.
I made references to chaos in the title of my last article, because that is where my life is right now...complete and utter chaos. I had thought, after the events of the final months of last year, that I would be in a better place right now...but here I am. This place that I have been too many times before, and frankly, I am really tired of being. The dynamic of the situation has changed, but it has only seen to complicate things more.
I really do want to start from the beginning of this whole mess that I call life, to see where exactly the errors occurred, thereby possibly preventing them from being made yet again. Either by me, or those that will inevitably follow.
Let's start with my very first, most vivid memory. Some don't believe it to be true, because I was only 2 when the event in question took place, but you really can't deny what you see in your minds eye, can you? It was my father and mother, fighting, Words are thrown back and forth, although what is said I don't know...probably due to a lack of ability to comprehend language at my tender age. And then my father leaves, and after that, I don't remember anything again until we start seeing my father on his weekend visits. It was this way for a while, the weekend visits....then, my father (ever the adventurous soul) decided to move to California. That is approximately 3000 miles from where my sister and I live in Cincinnati, OH. Might as well be a million miles, for all the connection we had to him. I remember occassional phone calls...we always had to stay up late to call, because of the time difference. I know that all I ever wanted, my most treasured wish, was to be with him. But of course, adults in their infinite selfishness never consider these things. He had been having affairs with women through the whole marriage. He divorced my mother to be with the woman who would later become my step-mother.
Now, I'll be completely honest with you. I have never managed to get the whole story of anything out of the adults involved in this whole debacle. My father died when I was 17, so I never got to know him as an adult...hell, I barely knew him as a child. My stepmother, after my father died, basically cut herself off from my sister and I. And my mother.....my mother. I love her dearly, and I know she only meant well. But she was one of those women that, after their husbands leave, become a little insane in their bitterness. So as to what the real truth is about anything is up for debate. What you read here will be based mainly what I remember, and what little I heard that wasn't completely tainted by bitter jealousy.
After a few years of marriage, my mother discovered religion, which was, in my opinion, the driving force in the rift that eventually broke the marriage apart. And she had had enough of the cheating. My father was still pretty young, and it was enough, I think that he had settled down into a marriage, but then to be pushed toward a very restrictive religion like Seventh-Day Adventism? It wasn't going to happen.
Needless to say, after he left to continue his pursuit of happiness, she submersed herself completely into the church. Almost disturbingly so. If it wasn't church or God related, she wasn't interested. She pushed my sister and I to be equally immersed in religion, and for a time, we were good little girls that did everything we could to please our mommy. Thinking back on it now, it may have been driven by a fear of her leaving like my father did.
Then, when I was 5, came the big change....my mothers' second husband, our stepfather. Fred. When I was younger, that name evoked fear and loathing in me. He was a ruthless tyrant for many years, punishing my sister and I for the slightest infraction. It is my belief that he punished us so because he couldn't stand the thought of my mother having been with anyone before him, and we were living, breathing proof of that fact. Of course, I have nothing to base this on, but it's my best educated guess. Why else would someone be so cruel to a 4 and 5 year old? I won't bother to detail the abuse....it was horrible to us at the time, but god knows there are people out there that have suffered far worse than we did. There was nothing sexual...it was all strictly physical abuse, and it ended immediately after my father found out it was still going on when I was 10.
There was also the advent of the birth of my half brother Tim, the golden child who could do no wrong. He was Fred's flesh and blood, and the differences in our treatment were ridiculously obvious.
I have to take a break at this point, gentle readers. I am a very emotionally reserved person, and this is more of my life than I have ever shared in one sitting with anyone other than a person I was prepared to sleep with. Is that terrible? I am probably a poster child for therapy, yet I have made only minor attempts to get it over the years. Maybe I should do that, and just use this space to chronicle the therapists findings. I don't know....for me, this really is a type of therapy. Ripping open the old wound and letting the pus spew forth, and all that rot. Lovely image, no doubt, but a graphically accurate representation.
And there is SO much more to write, much more than I care to think about.
I will continue this for as long as it takes me to reach the present day, at which point we will start on another journey of discovery into the future.
I am a newbie to this whole blog business, but I have started to have some revelations about my self and life in general (the blessing of growing older). I was really feeling the need to put it down on paper, except that paper didn't seem adequate enough space for this jumble of things that are running through my brain non-stop.
This will probably not be one of those places where you come to read brilliant short stories written by young geniuses...this is going to more along the lines of re-opening festering wounds. That sounds disgusting, but it's as true a thing as I can think compare it to.
I made references to chaos in the title of my last article, because that is where my life is right now...complete and utter chaos. I had thought, after the events of the final months of last year, that I would be in a better place right now...but here I am. This place that I have been too many times before, and frankly, I am really tired of being. The dynamic of the situation has changed, but it has only seen to complicate things more.
I really do want to start from the beginning of this whole mess that I call life, to see where exactly the errors occurred, thereby possibly preventing them from being made yet again. Either by me, or those that will inevitably follow.
Let's start with my very first, most vivid memory. Some don't believe it to be true, because I was only 2 when the event in question took place, but you really can't deny what you see in your minds eye, can you? It was my father and mother, fighting, Words are thrown back and forth, although what is said I don't know...probably due to a lack of ability to comprehend language at my tender age. And then my father leaves, and after that, I don't remember anything again until we start seeing my father on his weekend visits. It was this way for a while, the weekend visits....then, my father (ever the adventurous soul) decided to move to California. That is approximately 3000 miles from where my sister and I live in Cincinnati, OH. Might as well be a million miles, for all the connection we had to him. I remember occassional phone calls...we always had to stay up late to call, because of the time difference. I know that all I ever wanted, my most treasured wish, was to be with him. But of course, adults in their infinite selfishness never consider these things. He had been having affairs with women through the whole marriage. He divorced my mother to be with the woman who would later become my step-mother.
Now, I'll be completely honest with you. I have never managed to get the whole story of anything out of the adults involved in this whole debacle. My father died when I was 17, so I never got to know him as an adult...hell, I barely knew him as a child. My stepmother, after my father died, basically cut herself off from my sister and I. And my mother.....my mother. I love her dearly, and I know she only meant well. But she was one of those women that, after their husbands leave, become a little insane in their bitterness. So as to what the real truth is about anything is up for debate. What you read here will be based mainly what I remember, and what little I heard that wasn't completely tainted by bitter jealousy.
After a few years of marriage, my mother discovered religion, which was, in my opinion, the driving force in the rift that eventually broke the marriage apart. And she had had enough of the cheating. My father was still pretty young, and it was enough, I think that he had settled down into a marriage, but then to be pushed toward a very restrictive religion like Seventh-Day Adventism? It wasn't going to happen.
Needless to say, after he left to continue his pursuit of happiness, she submersed herself completely into the church. Almost disturbingly so. If it wasn't church or God related, she wasn't interested. She pushed my sister and I to be equally immersed in religion, and for a time, we were good little girls that did everything we could to please our mommy. Thinking back on it now, it may have been driven by a fear of her leaving like my father did.
Then, when I was 5, came the big change....my mothers' second husband, our stepfather. Fred. When I was younger, that name evoked fear and loathing in me. He was a ruthless tyrant for many years, punishing my sister and I for the slightest infraction. It is my belief that he punished us so because he couldn't stand the thought of my mother having been with anyone before him, and we were living, breathing proof of that fact. Of course, I have nothing to base this on, but it's my best educated guess. Why else would someone be so cruel to a 4 and 5 year old? I won't bother to detail the abuse....it was horrible to us at the time, but god knows there are people out there that have suffered far worse than we did. There was nothing sexual...it was all strictly physical abuse, and it ended immediately after my father found out it was still going on when I was 10.
There was also the advent of the birth of my half brother Tim, the golden child who could do no wrong. He was Fred's flesh and blood, and the differences in our treatment were ridiculously obvious.
I have to take a break at this point, gentle readers. I am a very emotionally reserved person, and this is more of my life than I have ever shared in one sitting with anyone other than a person I was prepared to sleep with. Is that terrible? I am probably a poster child for therapy, yet I have made only minor attempts to get it over the years. Maybe I should do that, and just use this space to chronicle the therapists findings. I don't know....for me, this really is a type of therapy. Ripping open the old wound and letting the pus spew forth, and all that rot. Lovely image, no doubt, but a graphically accurate representation.
And there is SO much more to write, much more than I care to think about.
I will continue this for as long as it takes me to reach the present day, at which point we will start on another journey of discovery into the future.