Installment One - Part Five

So, I've talked in earlier posts about my family, and it has come to my brother's turn. He thinks I'm not living right, but I'm happy. You would think he would care, right? Well, no, all he cares about is whether I'm a christian or not. I'm not, but he is, and he's militant about it. It wouldn't bother me so bad if he would just accept that I see the world differently than him. Because I do, though, he doesn't want me to have anything to do with his kids. I'm not a bad influence, but he treats me like I'm a leper or something. He doesn't care that he made my life a living hell when we were younger, strengthening my PTSD. Yes, he caused a great deal of trauma in my life. There's the time, for example, when he put his hand around my throat, squeezed, and lifted me up off my feet against a wall just to prove to me that I shouldn't cuss. I walked into the room, my sister said something that I didn't like, so I said, "Shit!"
That's when he grabbed me like that, and said in a demonic tone, "Don't... say... that... word!"
Okay, I didn't mean to offend, but I was only 15 or younger when this happened. I was growing up, and rebelling against the words of my parents. That's normal, right? Yes, it is. Example two actually happened before that day he almost suffocated me, but here it is, in the order I remembered it. We (my brother, two other kids, and me) were coming home from where the bus dropped us off after school. Jesse walked ahead of me, and the other kids started picking on me. I was just trying to ignore them when they started hitting me hard on the back of my head. Jesse wasn't that far away, so I called as loud as I could (ask anyone who knows me, and they'll tell you I'm loud when I want to be), but he kept walking. The other kids were saying how he knows his place and that he has the right idea by just walking away. I called for him louder, and he just kept walking, not even turning his head to see what was the matter. When I got home, I asked him why he didn't help, and he said that he figured I deserved it for whatever reason. What?! I deserved this hazing? No, I didn't. They were going off abut something I said the previous year that they had just heard about. I had already been punished for my off-color joking, and the fact of the matter is, I didn't realize it was such a sore subject to begin with. Here we were a year later, and kids were still fucking with me about it. I figured it out, though. My brother was too much of a pussy to come back and stand up for his sister. The worst part was that my parents agreed with him. SO, that was a battle I lost because I didn't know how to defend myself, and my chicken-shit brother, who was trained in martial arts, couldn't even back me up.
So, now he wants me to believe him when he says he's sorry, but he doesn't even know what he did. I've tried to tell him what, but he won't listen because he doesn't remember it. How am I supposed to believe he has my best interest at heart when he doesn't even have one? I don't know. He was never there for me, and he actually believes that I'd come to him for advice. He is the most intolerant, judgmental, pompous prick I've ever seen in my life! My father isn't even that cold-hearted! He said to me once that he wouldn't bring his kids to my house while it's as messy as it was, but then, after he found out I'm not a christian, he threatened me with not being able to see them at all. He said to me that he doesn't want their souls tarnished, and that I can understand, but it's not like I cuss in front of them. It's not like I talk about anything uncivilized around them. At one point before my brother decided I couldn't see his kids anymore but after he saw my filthy abode, I asked him if we could meet at a park or somewhere away from my house, and he said that would be a great idea, but never has he done even that. I wonder how he can live with only the one heart in his chest. He has tried and failed to convert me, but because of how he and other christians treated me growing up, I cannot believe in Jesus. Jesus was supposed to take my cares away from me, but he didn't. Jesus was supposed to be there for me, but he wasn't. Jesus was a teacher of tolerance, spouting that one person is no better than the next and that we have all fallen from grace. I believe that, but I don't believe he was everything the bible said he was, and for that, I'm ostracized by my own family. My brother is a very logic-minded person, which is why he's a math teacher now, but he hasn't a clue what familial sentimentality is. I do, but I get all this horse shit thrown in my face because he doesn't understand what it is to have a heart. Hey, jackass! I'm your sister! Doesn't that mean anything at all? No. And I'll tell you why; it's because of his religion teaching him that I'm living in sin, but what he fails to realize is, so is he according to the bible, his holy text of choice. He marches to the judgments in his head rather than realizing that god loves his creations, even if they aren't doing what it said to do. I don't believe god has a gender, and I don't believe he's jealous. That's a human emotion that was given to it by humans! God is too busy to damn people to hell while it's running all of creation. Of course, try telling that to my brother, and he'll probably throw a book at you or at least quote scriptures to you to try and prove himself right. Scriptures don't prove anything! It's the fact that you have faith that matters, not what you put your faith in. Honestly, he treats me like I'm a witch and we live in Europe in the 1500's! Go ahead, my brother, go ahead and judge me all you want, but that doesn't mean a damn thing! All it means is you're just as guilty of sin as I am! Stay off my case, and leave the bible out of it!
The time has come, dear readers, that I must take leave of this blog post. I will be writing more, but this subject is closed. Keep a watch on my dashboard (or yours if you're following). There will be more from me, but I'm going to leave my family out of it from this point on. Goodbye for now.
Well, I'm hungry now, and it's best I get

Installment One - Part Four

I woke up this morning thinking about my sister. Yes, the socialite I was talking about in an earlier blog is on my mind once more. Of everyone in my family, she is the one I have the most faith in as far as someday treating me with respect, but my faith in that only goes so far. For now, we have agreed that we shouldn't be talking to each other because we don't get along all that well. The reason for this is that she has been trying to take my inheritance from our mother away from me, and I just couldn't have that. Also, she decided in her own head that my husband is a devil-worshiper from seeing his Myspace page that he hadn't changed in six years. He had some pictures that jokingly portrayed him in plastic armor which he said he was wearing for a Templar meeting. He also had some books on his fave list that she thought were Satanic because of their titles. They were far from Satanic in content, though. These are things that he hadn't taken off his page, because he wasn't worried about that page. He was using a different page when I met him, anyway. These are the two problems I have with her aside from her thinking she didn't abuse me when we were kids/adolescents contributing to my PTSD. Her reasoning behind trying to keep my inheritance is that she has too much to pay for, and as executor of the estate, she feels that she should be entitled to take from me what is my portion to further her means. What I don't understand is who gave her the fucking right to do that to me?! There have been months (before she was threatened to get sued by my stepfather who was married to my mother and couldn't be executor because he doesn't live in the state where the estate is) that I didn't receive anything at all, and she has yet to pay that back. She just stole it right out from under me, but I know she wouldn't see it that way. We finally got it settled between us that a monthly check is sent my way via cashier's checks that are automatically taken from the bank account that was set up for the estate, but she won't get up off her ass and do the paperwork she agreed to do to get my stepfather's name off the estate because he wants us (me, my bro, and sis) to have the property, but he's about to have to file for bankruptcy, and when he does, the estate will be taken from us if she hasn't done the paperwork yet. -sigh- I wish she would just grow up and realize that Mom's death hurt us all, not just her.
So, anyway, I'm sure you as the reader are wondering what she did to me as children. Well, I won't list everything because that'd take all week and then some to finish that one. Top of the list, though, was the time she had a friend over to stay the night, and in the morning, they both snuck into my bedroom before I was awake and punched me in the face, only to force me to smoke my first cigarette later that day. How does one force another to smoke? Simple, and this is how they did it, my sister's fat-ass friend sat on me (I was quite tiny and was not strong) and held my hands down as I was trying to wiggle out from underneath her, but to no avail (when I call her fat-ass, I mean she had to be at least 300 lbs). Then, my sister held my mouth and my nose shut and stuck a lit cigarette into my mouth while still holding my nose and the rest of my mouth shut around it. I tried to hold my breath, but she held it there for so long, the only way for me to breathe was to smoke, thus starting a life-long problem with smoking that I still have difficulty with. Nice way to treat someone who saved you from drowning, huh?!
Honestly, I've been wanting so bad to just stop thinking about these things, but that was traumatic for me, especially since I wanted nothing to do with cigarettes before that. I was 13.
Well, I've wondered into a part of my brain that hurts very badly, so I'm going to take my leave, now. I'll post more blogs later, though. Ta-ta, my dear readers, and don't forget me.

Installment One - Part Three

Okay, now that I've gotten some sleep, and having talked about my mother, I'm going to talk about my father. I wish I had more than bad things to say about him, but how much good can you have to say for someone who abused you your entire life and doesn't even remember doing anything wrong? If he doesn't say nasty things to me trying to prove a point about religion, politics, or anything else he thinks I'm at fault for being, it seems he isn't able to survive. Maybe that's why he lives out in the middle of nowhere. He pissed too many people off, and now he's hiding from them. As an adult, I've decided the best course of action to take is to stop calling him. He doesn't call me, so why not? I don't want to call him just to get bitched out for not believing the same exact way he does. He's a southern christian man who, in my opinion, could learn a thing or two if he'd just read and live the holy text he swears by. There are plenty of passages about not judging people. Now, I can understand judging a man who slaps an elderly woman and then goes into a church... that's just wrong. But he judges me knowing I'm a good, caring, and sensitive person. He judges the wrong things. He's told me I'd never make a good musician, so it'd be better to just be a song writer. Now, to some, I'm sure this doesn't mean a whole lot, and it possibly could be good advice, but I'm not trying to make big with it. I just want to make music for myself, my husband, and anyone who wants to listen to it who I consider to be family. Since there's no one left in the family I grew up in that gives a damn, my family is who I (for lack of a better word) adopt into it as spiritual brothers and sisters. They may not be blood-related, but they are my family of love since my blood relatives have condemned me. But back to what I was saying about music, I am a talented singer and can play the keys, so I feel that I am a musician, even if I only do it as a hobby. Well, it's more than a hobby, it's a way of life for me to craft things, including music. I guess I'm technically an all-out artist because I do make works of art that aren't musical. But this is all stuff my father doesn't and won't understand about me. He just goes off on his tangents telling me how wrong I am but won't give the other sides of me any compassion at all. I got sick of it and decided instead of fighting with him, trying to get him to understand, it's just not worth the effort because he won't listen to me. He has his own opinions and ideals and he's too old to start new ones. Yes, I've given up on him so I can lead a comfortable life, but I still hear his voice in my head telling me how very wrong I am in every aspect of life. He's not going to take the time to figure out why I can't allow myself to forgive him. I want his apology, but I want him to remember what he's apologizing for as well. I want him to remember yelling at me about how my timing sucked for my FIRST piano recital. I want him to remember leaving my ass black and purple because he SUSPECTED that I broke my brother's radio. I'm sorry, but I never did that... and if I did, it was an accident. I would have remembered breaking that thing if I did it on purpose. Accidents happen, Dad, and you treated me like I killed someone. You were never there for me on an emotional level. You just sit there watching tv and waiting for someone to get between you and said tv so you had a reason to yell at them. What a reason, huh? I would have moved if you had just asked... you didn't have to yell at me and accuse me of ruining your favorite show just because i stepped in front of the tv for two seconds. And after all this dishonor, you expect me to have the capacity to honor you like it says to do in the bible. I can't... the only way I can is to not talk to you, because you think everything I say and do is a dishonor to you. And I'm not sorry that I didn't turn out the way you wanted me to, but when you don't really do your best as a parent, how can you really expect your children to learn what you believe is right? I turned out to be the best me I can be! I have a lot to offer the world, but nothing to offer you. You burned the bridge between us by your ignorance. You have to be the one to build it back because I demand that people don't treat me poorly, including you. I also demand of myself that I don't treat others poorly. Build a bridge, Daddy, if you ever want to see or talk to your oldest daughter again.
So, all that being said, it's time to bid my readers adieu for now. I will be back again later to write more. Goodbye.

Installment One - Part Two

So, I've been thinking a lot about my family. My mother's dead, my father is a dipwad, my sister can't cope with the loss of our mother and is taking it out on me by tring to force me out of my inheritance, and my brother is a fundamental religious type who can't see that I am worth respect even though I don't believe that Jesus was everything the bible claims he was.

I loved my mother very deeply, and it broke me when she died. She was my closest friend. She listened to me even when I was on the border of insanity, and teetering dangerously over the border. She was my rock. She was the one who I could call at 3 A.M. crying over a nightmare I had. She reminded me in times when I thought I was just the lowest form of scum this world had ever seen that I was beautiful to someone, because I see the world differently than anyone else I knew at the time. When she died, I lost that vital part of my healing. She died when I was going to get my children back, and raise them with her because there's no way I can do it alone, and she knew that; she was willing to give up the last of her youth to see me and my children grow and heal as a family. She was 50 years old, and no one could see it coming. She wasn't ill or in danger, but she died with a phone in one hand, the remote for her tv in the other, pictures of her grandkids all over the floor in front of her, and having gone to the antique store just an hour or so before to get some things for which she had saved some money to buy. I went to her funeral in Mississippi in September 2008. It was the saddest time I had ever experienced in my life. I didn't cry about it at the funeral, but in the days before and until now following it, I've cried very much. The one time I cried in front of my brother about it, he nonchalantly told me, "Now is not the time for emotional outbursts."
That made me cry harder, and he just about flipped his lid! What?! Not a time for emotional outbursts, my patootie! For the love of god, man, my mother just died, you insensitive prick! Yours did too! How can you say that?! So, I learned that day that in the presence of idiots, do not show emotion, because they will use it to torment you. What a way to learn that one, huh? Fine. The only emotion you'll get out of me is anger from now on until you learn some semblance of empathy. It doesn't have to be true empathy, but it doesn't take a psychic to figure out that when someone is sad, don't tell them not to have an emotional outburst! Even my socialite materialistic sister understood that one!
Anyway, I've gone on one of my infamous tangents, and it would be time to continue what I was originally typing about. Well, Here's how my brain works; I get distracted easily, and my thoughts totally scatter to different areas across the galaxy. It's happened as I was writing this and allowed my mind to get distracted by an intrusive thought about my brother. I went on my tangent and lost the rest of what I was going to type here. But it's okay. I can always come back to it later. It being 4:26 in the morning and me having some nice herbs for the pain, it was bound to happen. Time for sleeping here cuddled with my husband breathing over my shoulder has come, and I am glad for its arrival. I hope you as a reader will read more of my posts, and see them as what they are, a woman healing from the pains of her past so the future doesn't keep hold of them, and she may one day be free of the venoms that poison her soul. Goodnight(or, if you prefer, Good Morning).