I hear people talk about how great of a childhood they experience. Some would even like to be a kid again. I can't say that I agree and that my experiences were all that great. Honestly, I hated childhood, not that adulthood is any consultation.
I grew up in a dysfunctional family. Still not sure who is my real birth father. My grandmother and mother fought over the same men. My grandmother had my mother when she was 15 and lacked having real parents herself. So, being that they were so close in age they partied together and competed. All I can remember about them is that they were always at odds and physically fighting. This went on for years even as I became an adult. The fighting was so bad I can remember lying in my crib having a bottle while they were fighting. I didn't know until a few years ago why they seemed to hate each other so much and why I was always the root of the problem.
Now that I'm older and understand more putting the pieces of my life together. A cousin also dropped a bomb on me. My grandmother and mother competed for the same men. My grandfather who was not my moms biological father, but the only grandad I knew had also dated my mother. Putting memories together I believe they still had a thing from time to time. I never understood what was so special about him. He was a nice looking guy. What I don't get is that he was a heroine addict! They were still at odds about him and my grandmother didn't want anyone else, maybe my mother have him. Even though he was a heroine addict until the day he died. She was with him for about 25 years until she died. He died a few months after due to complications of drug abuse. My mother was murdered by her drug dealer boyfriend a few before. This all happened when I was 23.
I'll never know the true love of a mother because mine was never there. When I was two she married my stepfather that beat the crap out of her. Can you imagine being threw comforting your mother and cleaning up her blood?? She was only the type of mom that needed me when she needed someone. Not a nurturer or comforter. She needed all those things cause neither was my grandmother. I can remember being about three and some kids ran me over with a bike and my mom stood their laughing. She thought it was so funny. I was hurt, bleeding, and confused. My stepdad claimed to beat her because of the way she treated me. He was always nice to me and took me out to breakfast every Saturday morning at Woolsworth in Hyde Park. We would even stop by his mistress house on the way home.
When I was about five she left him. We moved into an efficiency apartment in the same area. I slept on a roll-away bed in the living room. My mother had countless boyfriends and tons of friends that considered themselves aunts and uncles. They would stay up late laughing, drinking, talking, playing loud music, and smoking marijuiana. Her bed was in the dining area off the kitchen and it had two big French doors. I slept in there when she had company. It didn't matter if I had school. My clothes often smelled like weed a cigarettes. My mom had countless men that had no respect for me because she didn't. I could hear them having sex because I slept right outside the door. They would creep through butt naked while I was sleeping. I'd often wake up and see them.
I would visit my grandparents for the weekends. My grandmother would ask me about things going on at my moms house and I would tell her. She would get upset and go over to beat her. I didn't like telling her things because of this, but she would make me feel bad if I didn't. Her love was materialistic because she worked for years and could give more than my mother who was on welfare she pointed out. So she loved me more. As I got older I figured out materialistic was the only way she knew to love. When she lost her job and was on welfare herself. Her attitude towards me changed as well.
While living with my mom I experienced a lot of things. She would kick me out the house the entire day. I couldn't even go in to use the bathroom. This happened around the age six or seven during the summer. I was left to my own devices. A lot of times I was hungry. This made me street wise and I could pound the pavement for hours. I'd go visit her friends with kids. You know my aunties and uncles houses. I knew if I went to play with their kids Id get fed sometimes. I made a friend that lived in the apartment building next door and started to play with her everyday. Her dad met my mom and said he liked her. He would give me money for tha candy store and invite me upstairs for lunch. He always told me nice things. We started to play a game. He assured me it was ok because my mom does it too. See I shared info with him he used against me. He molested his daughter and me. It was for that summer only. During the same time I was molested by one of my aunts older teenaged daughters and a friend my age whom mother was a friend that was being molested too. No one told their parents. I didn't fully understand what to think. The attention felt good because I was often lonely. Might I add I'm an only child. When school started back this ended. I grew Erie of my friends dad and never spent the night at my "auntie" house. We had a speaker at school that talked about good and bad touches. This is where the guilt set in. I never told because in my family I knew I'd be the blame. Just like when my teacher referred me to a psychiatrist because I daydreamed often and did poorly in school. My social skills were poor and I lived in my head. The psychiatrist told my mother and grandmother they were my problem after I spoke with her. I don't know what I said, but we never went back. That never called social services. They blamed me and it was all my fault. They cussed me all the way home.
After learning about sexual abuse I avoided everyone that had molested me. My friend dad would wait for me to come home from school. He would stalk me. Begging me to come upstairs for a visit. He'd hide behind trees and stand in the rain. He started to freak me out! I told some parents that walked their kids to school he was following me and they started to let me walk with them.
Some how my friend cousins knew he was molesting me. They teased me and called me fast. I couldn't play with my friend anymore and her mother told me to stay away from their house. Her dad went missing for a while and I didn't see him anymore.
I stayed afraid. Our neighborhood was bad. There were gangs and violence all the time. I saw my "auntie" son body being pulled from the trunk of the car. The same one whose daughter molested me. He was nice and I had a crush on him. This is one of those 6am store runs for a newspaper and cigarettes for my mom before I head to school alone for breakfast.
After this summer my grandparents moved in with my grandfathers mother. She lived in a bungalow on this nice block that some where her family through marriage. Her husband died and they moved in to help with the bills. I thought that mother(this is what we called her) was white. She had a lot of white in her, but considered herself black. She didn't like me because I was dark and she felt I was ugly. I was not allowed to come to family functions. They took me home when she had anything and would say kids weren't invited. Until I see pictures of her sister in law two light skinned granddaughters. I think a lot had to do with I could possibly be my grandfathers daughter as well. She just didn't like me. She played hide and go seek with me in the dark one time and I can remember her finding me and pulling my hair. The extended family didn't like me either. I had tons of people refer to me as a spoiled brat and refer to my only child status. I had tons of toys and anything I asked for from my grandmother. She liked to dress me up and show me off for praise. Oh, what a good thing she was doing to help her daughter and save me from my unfit mother.
The dark side is she was with a man while still married to another man. He was a heroine addict that often took me on his adventures. I was bait for panhandling for cash to buy drugs. Taught to lie and still to earn my kids meal at my restaurant of choice. I've been to man drug houses up to the age of 11. When he felt I was getting too old. I knew his drug whores and users friends. Dated their sons and almost raped by one. His brother liked me and begged him to stop. He saved me that day. There were things no child should ever have seen.
This sums up my childhood up to the age of 11. There were good times that were far and few. Most people didn't like me and I was bullied a lot. No real childhood friend because they all teased and made fun of me. I was the kid no one would play with or was taken advantage because I was gullible. I saw good in everyone. Not much changed in the teen years with my family, but that will be covered in my next blog. This is therapy for me, so please don't judge.
