The longest year…

In my twisted life of love, hate and disfunction 16 seemed like an eternity.

As I discover my new path of motherhood in this life I start to learn more about myself then ever before. I look down at his little face as he smiles back at me, in that moment I realize he does not love me because he needs me, he loves me because he is loved. I truly believe he taught me that the way I desired love was all wrong. I knew I’d do anything, I’d give my last breath if he needed it. That is what true love feels like.

A short time passes and my emotions have seemed to grip tightly around every inch of sanity in my head. I remember tears of the unknown weeping down my face, sadness in my heart for no reason at all. I felt so alone even though I had this beautiful little creation that gave me tranquility.

As I battle the fights and bruises from him and those three words, I battle the exhausted mind and body of mine from all the sleepless nights. I’ve heard before that teenagers suffer from post partum depression often I’m not sure if it’s true or not but I knew it had taken control of me as I’d try my hardest to stay afloat in the waves of emotion.

I remember holding a pill bottle in my hand as I begged God to help me gather the strength to keep moving forward. In that moment I wanted the pain to stop so badly. As I sat there debating on weather or not I was meant to be here, it hit me, I was my mother and for that I hated myself. I hated that I could let myself come to this point. I never wanted to be like her and I never wanted my son to have a mother like her. Tears wept harder as I prayed  to God and asked him to help me and give me a purpose in this lifetime. On that day in that moment I felt a tiny kick from within. I held my baby boy and promised to be the best I could be for him. because in that moment I knew my purpose was to be a mother. I knew that no matter how bad the days were, and how much pain my young heart felt, I knew I must be better for my children.



The day had come…

I remember those months of my 16th year so vividly.

I remember that time in my life so well probably because it was the point of no return. It was a year full choices I made that would change my path in life forever. I remember coming home from school one day as he sat there waiting for me to arrive. I must have worn something that he did not approve of, or maybe it was a faint layer of make up on my face. I think maybe I walked up those front steps with a smile on my face and he wondered what made me happy during my day. Truth is I was always happy at school away from that disfunction, it was a place I could laugh and smile and no one questioned why. I remember he hit me and I wasn’t sure why. I think maybe somewhere in his cheating and lies came a sense of unreasonable jealousy, a guilty conscious on his behalf. I remember he told me he didn’t want me going back, he told me how he didn’t trust me and my place was to be home. I still to this day regret listening to him, I regret giving up my life for him.

I remember I was alone more than Id like. I gave up everything for him and he was hardly around. He’d come home at night to sleep and the nights he didn’t I’d lay in a puddle of my own tears contemplating how I could let myself stay in love with so much pain. The fights were daily and the I love yous were less and less. He’d call me hurtful names, and make me feel worthless. Somewhere in the mist of all that I tried even harder to make things work. Our baby would be here soon and even if things were awful I felt a sense of needing to try, I needed to try my hardest to stay. I always seen how awful things were with my parents but yet they seemed to always end up back to one another to provide a false security of a home with both parents.

The day I’d been anticipating for months was finally here. The tension of everything else in the world was gone. I cared about only him, I cared about only hearing his first cry and holding him in my arms. The sound of him crying was the most beautiful sound I ever heard.  I remember seeing his little face, he was the tiniest baby I’d ever seen. My heart was full of love, full of protection. It was a feeling I can’t even fully exspress but the love I felt on that day was the greatest love I’d ever felt in my young life.

When I took him home and begun my path of motherhood, it came so naturally I did everything with out a single mistake. I loved him so much I knew there was no room for error. As I spent my days and nights as a nurturer he was hardly around. I knew what he was out doing and it made me furious. I couldn’t believe he didn’t feel this new love that I did, I couldn’t belive how my young mind that so desperately thought he might change was wrong.

I remember it was only about a week after giving birth and he wanted me. I refused, I was sickened by the thought of him not coming home the night before. I no longer loved him more than life itself, I no longer gave in to his every need and want. I had a new love and I think it haunted him. I remember him forcing himself upon me as laid there with tears in my eyes, I still had stitches from giving birth. When he was done i remember how disgusting I felt. I remember him fighting with me and once again his own guilt would surface. Accusations of how I must of been the one being unfaithful. My young heart was in a blur of emotions I couldn’t bare.



A few months pass and I am 16 now. I can feel little kicks from within.


I remember how badly I wanted my mother. She was never a good mom, but she was my mom. It was by far not in any way her nurturing or guidance that I needed. I just needed her for the simple fact she was my mother. Some time had past and she returned home from the house she had earlier so eagerly moved to. I guess somewhere in that year the man and woman in that car saw her for what she was. It’s funny when I think back on it because no matter what she always had a home with me and my father even though we knew her habits, we knew her downfalls. Even when she’d scorn us so badly we still always let her back.

I can remember how happy I was that she came back, I was a baby having a baby and somewhere in the mist of all those hormones I felt like I needed her more than ever. Old habits never die though, and not to long after she returned she planned to leave to New Orleans to work. I remember she spoke of how she’d come back with all the money she made to help me with the baby. She told me how she was doing this all for me.

Deep down I cared not at all about the money, I just didn’t want her to go. I was scared because I knew her, I was afraid she’d end up dead out there. I told her I wanted her to stay, but that was not enough. Once again she had left me alone. I never told anyone how hard I cried the day she left.

I cried because I needed her.

I remember it was only about a month she was gone. She called to say she was on her way home. I can still hear her words like everything was ok, like she never even left me. I remember she returned with nothing not a penny in her pocket, and I just thought to myself she left me for nothing. She left me once again to get high.

Battered emotions, a broken soul. I used to lay there and talk to my growing baby. I’d tell him no matter what I’d never leave him. I’d tell him how much I loved him. I couldn’t ever understand it, I loved him already more than life itself.

Toxic relationships filled every room of that beat up old apartment we called home. Every day seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. I remember the baby was due to arrive soon, and in a life of unfortunate events something would always be bound to go wrong. What seems like such an easy fix now a day was a harrowing tragedy then living on the bare minimum. I remember our washing machine broke, I remember I begged my dad please, please buy a new one. But back then buying a new one meant a month of nothing, it meant an extra trip to the food bank and no shampoo or necessities. I can still see him handing my mother that couple hundred dollars, our only money for that month. She kindly offered to go and buy it herself, but the whole day had passed with out her return. That day turned to a four day binge. I remember when she returned wreaking of alcohol and no washing machine. I had enough, I can still feel the tension in that house as I begged my father not to let her back. I begged him so badly to please just send her on her way. I was so upset at him that day, I was so upset because him just like me always accepted her back.



Gaining life..

I am 15 now, still growing vastly into a young woman. On the inside I can still feel shattered traces of the childhood set before me. On the outside I’m forming into a woman now, my body growing in places it hadn’t before. I await patiently some days for a phone call or visit from my mother, inside I miss her deeply but it’s a feeling I hide from the world. I hide my love for her because I’m embarrassed of her. I’m embarrassed she has left me once again and I some how still love her. My mind is easily occupied because he is still here with those three words, although some days I don’t believe them much anymore but in my fragile teenage mind I some how convince my self if he says them, it must be true.

I remember what seemed like never ending apologies, I’d plead out sorry and find my self in spiral of self loath. How on earth could I be so stupid to not be careful with my words. I tell him how sorry I am and tell him it won’t happen again.  He tells me I make him do it, I’m the one at fault. I remember his words so perfectly asking why I make him so mad.

I wear no makeup now, because he tells me I’m beautiful without it. I wear shirts that cover all my skin because I’m for no one else to see. I find myself breakable to any words of hurt.

Hands grip tightly around my throat, stitches hold my skin in place from that knife. But I know things will get better because I am gaining a life. A tiny little heart is beating inside me now and I know that he can change.




Days continue as they always do, the only difference is they seem so much longer now. I’m tangled in a Web of dysfunctional love. I still remember a feeling of fear, I was afraid of a phone call or knock on the door. My mother had been gone now longer than normal. I remember being terrified that her body laid lifeless somewhere in the night.

I still can see that old car pull up to the front on my home. The man driving just starred back at me with a viod look on his face. Out of that car came my mother and another woman. I remember her packing her things ever so calmly. She spoke of things like how happy she was and how these people care for her. She spoke of leaving us for good, and how it was what she needed. She spoke of how she’d visit when she could.

I turned my focus to him more than ever. Because he told me those words I needed. He told me those words when my heart ached at its worst. He spoke those words when the ones who were supposed to did not.

A little time passes and I know my father is hurting. He’s hurting because she’s once again left us. He’s hurting because this time it felt more real than all the others. He was a man, I was his daughter. He knew I needed more than he was able to give me.

I remember my grandmother coming to stay with us. She knew my father needed help raising a young woman and she swept to our rescue. I remember she put food in our empty fridge, and helped me with laundry. She was a sort of personal angel who knew all of the sadness that was previously set upon us.

I remember she didn’t like him much, she didn’t like him because she could see the pain behind my smile. She didn’t like him because she heard the fights and seen traces of hidden bruises. She tried to keep me away but what did she not understand, he told me those three words I needed, And for that I loved him to.

One thing I can say I wish I didn’t remember was this day, because on this day I would suffer the greatest pain of my young life. The usual chaos, the fights now came from him and I. She told me he must leave because she would not stay if I kept him around. How could she not see i love him. Why is she trying to take away the thing I needed most. I finally found it and she wants me to let it go. I could not bare the pain of losing those words.

I spoke to her of terrible things, I cried and screamed of my hatred towards her. I spoke some of the cruelest words to ever leave my mouth. I told her I wished she would just die. I spoke that if she just dropped dead i would not care. My love for those words was more powerful than anything else in the world. Her face sad and angered by my words, She walked out that door. But the next days, the next days would show me how painful losing love really could be.

I still can hear the footsteps of my cousin walking towards me, the phone to her ear with a pale look on her face. My grandmother has died, but how on earth could this be. I just spoke those terrible things just two days earlier. I spoke treacherous things that I did not mean my body filled with rage and anger towards my self. My heart feeling more pain than it could bare. I think at the moment I was terrified, I was terrified to have my father learn his mother was gone. I was terrified because he knew the awful things I spoke to her. I was scared he’d leave me to. I could still remember tears would not fall, the sadness I felt would not fall from eyes. I needed at the moment someone who loved her as deeply as I did. I remember the moment my sister walked through that door she held me so tightly, and once again tears wept down both our faces.

The next days, weeks and months were filled with so many tears. I cried every night preying to God to please let her know how much I loved her. Please let her know I never ever meant those horrible things I said. The amount of sorrow I felt was weighing so heavily on my conscience. But every night, he was there with those three words.




Finding love..

Im a young lady now, i am 14.

I stay away alot more. I find much solitude being with friends and keeping busy. I find myself searching for a path in what seems like such a cold hearted world.

Searching for my place, searching for my happiness, my moment. Wanting something so tremendously to give me a purpose. I needed to feel wanted, I needed more than anything else in the world to feel loved. I thrived so desperately for that.

I can still remember meeting him. He caught my eye so delightfully.  We hung out in groups and crowds of friends. I can still remember us always being around one an other. I remember the day he asked me to be his, there was an instant feeling of being wanted I longed for.

I remember those three words so clearly, those three words that I needed, I love you.

I finally felt wanted. I finally was needed. I finally was loved.

I remember the first time he put his hands on me, I remember every single detail down to the smell of the room. I remember so vividly because that was the moment I should have walked away and never ever looked back, I couldn’t do it though. I couldn’t do it because after his apology came those three words, I love you. I couldn’t loose that, it was all I longed for, I needed that. I needed so desperately to be loved. My need for that weighed so heavy it took over every rationality in my head.

A few months pass and I find myself hiding dark secrets. I’m smiling to the world, yet I’m crying inside.  I’m hiding bruises and being very careful with my words. I don’t see my friends much anymore, I don’t laugh much either. But it’s ok because I am loved.


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.