Growing older..

I’m a little older now, im almost a teenager. I have many sleepless nights. I worry alot, my father has gotten sick. He’s been having alot of heart problems and not to long ago a heart attack. It terrifies me, I’m scared to lose him. Even though there’s no exspressed words of love for one another i care deeply. The fights are on going as usual, some days better than others.

Some days we all fight. I find myself involved in the middle of a never ending battle of disfunction. Deep down I love tremendously, but on the surface I seem to hate. I hate them because they fight, I hate them because they don’t know how to love, I hate them because I am becoming like them.

I remember thinking to myself do they even care, do they know how angry I am. I was hurt and neglected. I was neglected of a loving home. I was neglected of a friend.

I can still feel the embarrassment of some of those days. I can still hear my aunt calling my name from next door. She was yelling for me to come and get my mother out of her yard. With neighborhood kids around and people starring, I was truly embarrassed for myself and for her. I remember her naked bruised body laying in my aunts yard. She was so intoxicated and high her lips were purple. She looked so beaten up for a moment I felt sad, then the anger set in. I was angry that this woman was my mother. I was angry that my friends were falling witness to my he’ll.

We knew what she’d do, we all knew. It was a hard realization that we rarely spoke of. She’d trade herself for drugs. And when the dealers or men would get sick of her they’d send her on her way. She’d always end up back home after days or weeks of being gone. Always the same, bruised and high or bruised and hung over. The thought still sickens me to this day.

There were days we would pretend like everything was normal. She’d cook and clean and try to be a mother. It rarely lasted long, because the moment she needed to get away she’d blame us. She’d blame us that she had to cook and clean and be a parent. I can still hear those words “I deserve it” or “your driving me to drink.” Something I often wondered about was why on earth would God send me here with her. Why do I deserve this. Am I not deserving of a loving home, of a loving mother.


11 thoughts on “Borderline

  1. Hi Sam..your blog is so powerful, your words so moving. Sharing of this very painful time in your life will help so many others. I, too, had a difficult childhood and your story has certainly moved me. You are special and a ‘light to others’. Keep writing! šŸ™‚

    Liked by 2 people

  2. We all ask ourselves those questions. We all have our own journey. The road we travel is ours and ours along. No one can see life from our perspective. Sure things can be similar to someone else’s story, but no two stories are exactly alike.

    So keep writing. Tell your story. You never know when or if your experiences can be of help or comfort to someone else. Writong is also a good form of therapy. It cleanses the soul.

    Be strong. Trust God. He does not give us more than we can bear.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. There is hope at the end of this hellish existence.

    Through your experiences and telling your story you are helping others realize that thier lives might not be as bad as they suspect.

    The experience will make you a stronger adult. Beleive me. I too came a dysfunctional family.

    My prayers go out for you.

    There is light and hope at the end of this tunnel.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Hi Sam, thanks for following my blog, I am now following yours. I have skimmed through several posts and am very impressed. I will have to read all of them, and will try to catch up. You offer wise insights and I can identify with the points you make.

    Liked by 1 person

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