Chapter 2

Chapter 2
Six months before the wedding
January 5th 2007

My sister Nicole’s father, Henry Miller, came from old money. His great-great grandfather invented the stop light or some other random, yet uber necessary commodity of life. Now, the Miller family just makes money off their money. Even after his passing, Nicole’s extended family and grandparents always helped my mom take care of Nicole. I was not so lucky.

My father, Anthony Ricardi, was our mothers high school boyfriend, turned fuckbuddy. She was sleeping with him shortly after Henry’s passing to help her grieve. When she got knocked up with me, they had to marry. Before my 1st birthday, they were both cheating on each other.

Even though they were both at fault for the destruction of their marriage, they never ceased to blame one another and drag me into the middle to use as a punching bag to warm up to their fights. Due to their inability to get along and my father’s constant struggle financially, causing him to lapse often on child support, I saw very little of him growing up.

Throughout my life, my dad had done so little for me, that I was in shock when he agreed to pay for half of my wedding. I barely knew the man, but I really looked up to him. Once he married his wife Linda and finally ‘grew up’ as my mom would say. Now he had the kind of life, I always wanted. He had a new, big beautiful home, a loving wife and two perfect kids. His life was so perfect-looking it made me wish I had it. I felt like Paul and I could have that life someday and if we spent more time around him, we could figure out how.

Paul and I had so much in common. Not only did we grow up in the same neighborhood (outside of DC in a little town called Brentwood), and socio-economic class (dirt poor) and we both grew up without a father around. Well, he had no father; I had five. Before I graduated high school, my mother had been married and divorced five times. Paul had attended weddings four, five and six. I knew I did not want to be like her, which is why I was so scared to disappoint my dad and mess up the relationship with the man both Paul and I admired.

The night before my dad’s two-thousand-dollar check came in the mail, Paul and I had a huge fight. I, honestly, can’t even remember what it was about. It had something to do with dishes, or maybe it was the trash. All I remember is that he woke up, still angry that day and left without saying goodbye. What can never be forgotten was what my mom said to me that day in response to said fight and post-fight wedding jitters.

Driving up 295 N, headed to Martins West to deposit the check, sitting in stop-and-slow traffic, I called my mom. When she answered the phone, “Tank you fo callin china foortun” in her silly Chinese accent, I knew she was in a good mood.

“Hey, guess what I have in my hand?” I asked giggling at her goofy greeting.

“A big, black dick?” my mom shocked me with her answer.

“What? No! What the fuck?” I was really confused and slightly amused.

“Did you know that black guys have black dicks?” She asked another bizarre question.

“Yes, mom, I know that. Everyone knows that.” I told her as I wondered why she didn’t know that or more importantly why did now.

“I didn’t!… anyway, what do you have?” She quickly jumped back on point.

“A two-thousand-dollar check from my dad,” I said, nervously because I could never guess what her reaction would be when I brought up my dad. Sometimes she playfully made fun of him and other times, she would go on an hour-long bitch-fest about how bad of a father he was to me. I hoped that because I was telling her something good he did, it would be the former.

“wow! great… he actually came through this time. I’m surprised, but happy for you!” She said, sounding genuinely happy for me, which was rare.

“But… I don’t know… I’m nervous to turn it in. We had a big fight last night and Paul left this morning without saying bye. What if he doesn’t want to marry me anymore? If we cancel the wedding after this, dad loses all of this money, right?”

“Oh, Iza baby… everything will be fine. I promise. Paul loves you.” She stated as a matter of fact.

“but… what if I don’t want to marry him?” I continued.

“you will… look, I’ve done this before… I’m kinda an expert, right? So, you have to trust me on this. Everything will work out fine.”

“I know… But, that’s my point. What if I’m really messed up from all of that and I can’t go through with it. I don’t ever want to get divorced. So, if that means never getting married, I’m okay with that. I mean… being with just one person for your entire life? It’s unrealistic and an ancient tradition started back during a time when the life expectancy was only 50. The chances of us actually being together forever are so small.” I tried to reason my way through my fears.

“Baby… forever doesn’t mean forever-forever… forever just means forever-right-now” she attempted to explain the most confusing logic even for her.

“What? That doesn’t even make sense, mom” I said as I looked for my cigarettes.

“Look… every time I get married, I can honestly tell myself that I want to be with that person ‘forever’ and I know that I mean it at that moment. In that moment, I know I will love them forever. So, forever doesn’t mean forever-forever, it means forever-right-now, get it?”
I was far from understanding her logic, but I assumed that she meant we should get married. But, since I’ve learned to never assume with my mom, I asked anyway, “do you think we’ll get married? That we should get married?”

“Do you love him?” she asked, finally, a simple question.

“Yes,” I answered, relieved.

“Does he love you?” she asked.

“Yes… I think” I was starting to see where she was going.

“Then… that’s all that matter, right? That’s your forever-forever answer right there,” she laughed at herself and her ridiculousness, “but… seriously… forever just means that you both love each other, and you want to be together forever. Everything will be fine, I promise. Everyone knows that you two should be together and everyone knows you’ll get married. You’ve waited long enough and it’s time! okay?”

“okay, thanks” Even though her actual words made little sense, she won the argument, because she was right. We did love each other. He was the love of my life. We grew up together and went from best friends to first loves, living together to now. Of course, we would get married. When I decided, 5 years ago to wait until marriage to have sex, Paul agreed without question. This was especially surprising because he knew I did not want to wait for religious reasons. I explained that I wanted to wait because I didn’t want to end up like my mother, thinking the grass was always greener and what not. This was true, but not the reason.

Proof in the pudding…

The access to google has made the job of a writer more difficult than any other time in history. Prior to holding the entire World Wide Web in the palm of our hands, writers had the unique ability to teach readers something new through the entertaining stories of fiction. (ie~”proof in the pudding”~ is not the saying we all think it is… the actual saying is proof OF pudding and it refers to the difficult process of making pudding & if accomplished, you’d have major bragging rights)

Henceforth… my proof and my pudding?? My daughters!!

I’ve recently been “forbidden” from seeing my niece and nephew “forever”. Yes, the same kiddos that I was basically asked to raise when they were babies b/c my sister just “couldn’t handle the whole stay-at-home mom thing with two babies” I was asked to watch them Sunday night through Friday night for an entire year. Therefore, they have a very special bond with me… all four of our kids have a special bond with one another… and I obviously love them as much as I do my own children.

I know why HE doesn’t want me near them anymore… Now that the girls (and his kids) are older… there is no way/chance for us to be alone anymore…. so, there is no reason bring them here. There is nothing in it for him… therefore, it’s just not worth the effort. However, I do not know why or how my mother and sister justify keeping the kids from me?

I am, obviously, a very good mother. My eldest daughter just graduated high school, got accepted and got a full ride to a UNIVERSITY!! *Something my sister couldn’t even do after my mom spent 40k on private HS. Maybe that’s it?? Maybe they are jealous? My kids are doing so great… they are teenagers and they are so well behaved. They get good grades in school.. neither have ever been in trouble inside or outside of school. We all have a great relationship with one another. They talk to me about everything. So…

Why wouldn’t they want that type of influence around their children? Every time they spent a weekend or week here (when their parents are on vacation) I made a special effort to help them learn to read or practice math skills. They love spending time here because I give them my undivided attention and love. Something which, I know, is lacking in College Park with 3 adults under the same roof with them.

They cry when it’s time to go home, not only because they love us, but because they never know how long it’ll be before they see us again. They get in trouble for crying and even spanked… which breaks my heart… AND… in addition to the “*Gun in my Mothers Home”(*prior post) another way HE has changed and brainwashed my mother is how she allows him to spank them! When the girls were little, she didn’t even let my ex husband YELL at the girls… I can’t even imagine what she would have done if I told her they were being spanked for being SAD!!!

I really hope that this journey… this book and this blog… open up the eyes of my mother and my sister, in the process of me spilling my heart and soul out with each stroke of a key… but, at the very least… I know that someday… (sooner than they realize) the kids will be old enough to know the truth… and I know they will remember all of this heart break and being taken from their “Aunt ZZ” and they will never forgive their parents or their grandmother if the situation isn’t remedied asap!!

To my sister,

Those kids need me in their lives.. the proof is in the pudding… do you want them raised like my daughters? To grow up and become like my daughters?? Or.. do you want them raised in College Park.. the way I was raised and have them turn out like ME?? (You know… that girl you hate so much that you still hold me accountable for her sins??) I wonder if you even realize that every time we fight… every reason you have for being mad at me or calling me crazy… every “bad” thing I have ever done in my life was when I was a CHILD.. a TEEANGER under the same roof which you are now raising your kids?? I was the responsibility of our mother!! If my daughters were acting out and doing the things that I did, back then, would you not blame me and ask what I was doing wrong to have teenagers so out of control??

However, since the moment I felt my daughters heart beat in my belly… I instantly GREW UP.. put her first… every single second since.. I have been a good mother, a good daughter and especially a good sister.. to you and your children… even whilst suffering the abuse, manipulation, fear and violent attacks from your husband… I suffered it all in silence.. keeping it to myself in hopes of protecting your family and your children … but, now I’m wondering.. why? Did I make a mistake?? and… if so… how do I fix it now?? How do I make this right??

The sad part… when it all began… HE told me that I could never tell you, because you would never believe me.. HE knew that he was so good at manipulating you and making you hate me… at pretending like he hated me too… that if the day ever came when I found the courage to tell you the truth.. that you would brush it off and ignore me… blame me… shame me….. and… sadly… I know that is exactly what will happen.

He also threatened me with the children and told me if I ever said anything, to anyone.. I would never see the kids again… well, guess what?? That has already happened… so…. fuck it… I’m no longer suffering in silence!! I’m telling my story.. I’m writing my book and I tried to write it in a fictionalized “based on a true story” format… But, the publishers want a memoir..

now, I’m faced with a serious decision to make… do I hide my identity and publish the book under a pen-name?? If that would mean I get to see the kids again… if my kids get their family back… then, sure… I would do that FOR YOU… However, if you are going to ignore me… block me… and continue to keep the kids from us… then, why wouldn’t I publish MY book, MY story, under MY real name???

I hope you make the right decision and for once…. do what’s best for your kids… and for yourself for that matter… you know you are living with a monster… and when you come to grips with that and you are ready to move forward with your standstill life, literally still living at home with your mom… I will be here for you…. just like I always have been!! I just need to know your decision soon because I only have 8 more weeks before I have to send my editor the memoir.

ps~ I love you… and I am, truly sorry for not telling you the truth sooner… I did try

Chapter 1

Izalita
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~PART I ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She has always perceived Izalita’s life as better than her own and in that jealousy has said and done things which caused immense pain and therefore rendered it untrue as well. Two days before Izalita’s ‘big day’ and, once again, her mother was having a mental breakdown, lashing out fits of jealousy aimed at her heart, crushing her soul and confusing her head.
Chapter 1
7/5/7 ~~ 58 Hours before the Wedding
I do not own a gun. Guns terrify me, as they should, because they make death far too quick and effortless to come to fruition. Death should not be something which can be brought about instantaneously. If I owned a gun, I would use it; Most likely, I would use it on myself. For this reason, I do not own a gun.
My sister’s husband owns a gun. I know the correct term is ‘brother-in-law’, but he is not my brother in any way, shape or form. I wonder if he ever considers using it. He owns one because he is in the military. I guess this gives him the moral authority to own a gun.
I assume this is the reason my mother allows him to keep the gun in her home; one of the ‘good guys.’ Although, I distinctly remember her forbidding husbands two and four from keeping their guns in her home and husband number four was a cop.
I guess I should back up here and explain that my mother has been married and divorced five times. She is currently on husband number 6. However, he will not last long. There is nothing wrong with the man, personally. My mother just has an expiration date on marriages. After the 4th year, she gets an ‘itch’ and begins looking for the next husband.
Nicole Marie Caruso-Miller-Riccardi-Taylor-Johnson-McKinney-Sullivan, also known as Nica, is on a constant quest for ‘happiness’ which is ironic considering how unhappy she makes everyone in her trajectory. I should know better than to take any marriage advice from her. However, she is my mother and this particular day, two days before my wedding and I was feeling vulnerable and her words were stinging more so than normal.
…..
“Everyone knows you shouldn’t be getting married, people will be whispering, pointing and shaking their heads as you walk down the aisle…. is that really what you want?” She continued as I sniffed on the other end of the line. I was attempting to hide my tears, grateful to be on the phone until my stuffy nose gave me away as I attempted to suck it all up, in more ways than one. “Honestly, no one would be the least bit surprised if you called the whole thing off. We would all support you. He doesn’t love you… not the way you should be loved. You don’t even know what real love is, you’re too young.”
“But… Nicole was only 20 when she married Chris!” I responded to the most ridiculous thing she said, out of the many. “I’m 22!”
“Do not bring your sister into this, she was sick, and Chrissy was taking care of her… it’s completely different!” She whipped back. I struck a nerve which I usually avoided if I could. Talking to her about my sister Nicole and golden-boy, son-she-never-had Chrissy was dangerous territory, but obviously necessary right now.
“Taking care of her? They live in your house and he didn’t even have a job when they got married. Paul and I have been living on our own since we were 18… we’ve been engaged for 3 years now and waited until I was done with school like you wanted… and…” I tried to summon up more courage as my tears turned from sadness to anger. “… and he pays for me to go to school. He literally takes care of me. We’ve waited long enough and I’m not cancelling the wedding two days before.”
“Like I said, don’t bring your sister into this. It was completely different. We all loved Chris and were happy to welcome him into the family.” She continued and now, began to truly break my heart. “Nobody likes Paul, you know your sister won’t even call the house after 5pm because she doesn’t want to get stuck talking to him. Chris told me the reason you guys don’t hang out anymore is because they can’t stand him. Chris says all the time how you can do so much better. We all just want what’s best for you, honey.”
Flabbergasted, my throat began to swell up and ache from the tears I was attempting to keep inside. The pit in my stomach felt like an endless hole, sucking my heart from my chest one painful drop of blood at a time. I could feel the surge of blood rushing up my neck so forceful and fast, I was certain my head would explode. My hand was shaking as I tried to light a cigarette. Cigarettes always dry up the tears. They dry up the tears and push the lump in my throat back down. I don’t even attempt to speak again until I finish one long and glorious drag.
“Hello, Izalita, are you still there?” She thought I’d hung up. I should have.
Feeling safe enough to speak without crying again, I finally answer, “Yes, I’m here and I hear you… everyone hates Paul and we shouldn’t get married.”
When I heard her deep breath before she said, “Look…” I knew she was about to begin round two. So, I snapped my phone shut and threw it on the ground. I needed a break. I’m not proud to say this, but hanging up on my mom, feels so good, at times like this. Plus, it is the only way to for me to get control of the conversation, control of anything.
Two days before what should be the best day of my life and I feel, once again, like I would be better off dead than have to deal with facing the disapproval of my entire family. I tried to picture it, the shaking heads and pointing fingers. I, also, tried to figure out the process of actually cancelling the wedding. Would I have to call everyone myself? How could I do that? I could not, but if I didn’t, what would happen? Everyone would show up and just wait for me. No, that would be even more embarrassing and rude.
My sister, Nicole, named after my mother, was knocking on my door as I frantically searched for a new pack of cigarettes. When she was born, my mother was married to the ‘love of her life’ and together, they planned to have only one, perfect child. Because her father, Henry, died in a car crash when she was only 3 months old, my mother never had the chance to tire of him or cheat on him. His death caused him to become a martyr in the eye of my mother. Nicole was a martyr by proxy.
Although, she never got in the middle of our actual fights, she always came afterwards as part of the clean-up crew. I didn’t even say anything as I opened the door crying. After a long hug, she stepped back and asked, “you okay?”
“If I could find my cigarettes, then maybe” I answered with a crackly voice still trying my hardest to hold back the tears.
“Here” she handed me the pack in her hand, always prepared, and lit it for me as well. “So, what did she say after I left? I only heard the beginning, then headed over.”
The cigarette was beginning to do its job desiccating the tears. Through a stuffy nose and a puff of smoke, I answered, “…oh nothing much, you know… just that you guys don’t think I should marry Paul.”
“What? Why would she say that, oh Iza, it’s not true! Mom is just stressed out because she must make the final payment for the wedding tomorrow. She’s been working double shifts at Famished Fanny’s to make enough money. That’s all. It’s her turn to pay. It’s not about you at all!” She tried to reassure me.
“But… But she said you don’t even call the house after 5pm because you don’t want to talk to him?” I asked, trying to remember everything my mother said, feeling even more confused.
“No, that’s not what I said. Yes, I told her I don’t like calling at night because I know you’re cooking dinner and spending time together. She either misunderstood me or is just lying to make her point. You can’t trust her. Do you remember what Nana use to say? Mom has always been so jealous of you. You’re so smart and beautiful. You just finished college and you’re about to marry the first and only man you’ve ever loved, two things she can only wish for herself.” My grandmother, sister and more recently my school counselor told me that my mother acted in ways that seemed to stem from jealously. However, I could not wrap my head around that concept and therefore did not believe it. Perhaps I didn’t want to believe it. Could a mother really be so jealous of her own daughter that she would undermine or even sabotage her happiness? I didn’t want to believe so. Living in a world like that seemed hopeless and although I have struggled to grab it in bits and pieces, I have always tried my hardest to hold onto hope. Without it, I haven’t much else.
My sister snapped me back out of my thoughts and returned me to my smoky living room. “Please, don’t let her get to you. It’s all about the money…. Iza … do you remember what she said 6 months ago when it was your father’s turn to make the down payment?”

Get out of my head!!!!!

Ugh… every time I try to sit down and write, I hear my mother’s words,

“no one cares!” — about reading a memoir written by me (well MOM, my current editor and publisher beg to differ because they read it…LOVED it and said that many people will, in fact CARE!!

Just because you don’t

… doesn’t mean others won’t!!

Get the fuck Up, Out my head

… you won’t ruin this one, again, one which you haven’t even Read!!

The saddest thing I’ve ever read was the poetry book I found that I wrote when I was 12-13 years old…. I was writing poems on a daily basis… about love, friendship, school, Cheer, my teddy bear.. anything and everything I cared about… I would write these rhyming, flowing poems/raps about everything & I remember it all coming to me so easy and I remember all of my friends loving to hear them… I remember when I read them to my dad and his wife… she cried… she asked how I could write something so “deep and moving” at such a young age… & she told me I would be a writer someday.. something I hadn’t even considered… this gave me the courage & confidence to finally read them to you….

I forgot the way you laughed at me… how you told me that writers make no money and I would never be a writer.. to give up that dream now… I forgot all of that until I read this poetry book and the poem called “hope” which is about how quickly someone can take your hope.

That was the last poem I wrote in that book… the following journal entry was about how I couldn’t write anymore poems.. I was trying and trying and I couldn’t make anything rhyme. So, instead I just wrote one last journal entry about how you had just hit me over the head with a bible, whilst screaming that I needed to “be nicer to my sister” when all I had done was try to switch bedrooms with her… I was tired of living in the moldy, dark basement, feeling like I wasn’t part of the family… but, when you got home and found her crying down there… saying she was scared and didn’t want her room down there… you beat the shit out of me… in front of my boyfriend & friends who had helped me rearrange the rooms (which …by the way… she agreed to & said nothing to us about changing her mind)

You have always protected her with a fierce and violent rage …. so, imagine my fear now… I have to tell the world something that could… no, something that SHOULD majorly alter her life!!

Her husband is a cheater!! And worse… he is a rapist!! Her husband violently raped me, repeatedly & due to years, upon years of growing up in a house that was always violently biased to protect her at all costs.. I knew that I could not tell anyone.. I knew that you, nor her would believe me… and I knew it would end what little we had left of the thing I try to call family!

The most fucked up part… I’ve told people.. I have written my story and I am believed.. my story is wanted.. they think they can sell this story and I STILL HEAR YOUR WORDS IN MY HEAD!!

“No one will care”… no one will believe me.. I will lose everything.. well, guess what?? He’s already taken everything I care about.. he’s already taken you and her and her kids that I was pressured to help raise, yet never treated as family… only as a babysitter… I have already lost you all… so, I ask you this now??

What do I have left to lose???

Why am I actually considering changing my name and not putting my name and my face on MY book?? On MY STORY!?!

Ps-to any of the 73, 431 people out there that have already read this blog… what should I do?? Should I change my name?? Should I stay hidden when I publish this memoir?? Or should I be brave and just tell the world the truth?? I need help.. I need advice here… you can private message me if you prefer as so many of you have already done.. and let me know what you think!?!

Thank you all for the support and love you have already sent my way.. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to know I am no longer alone… to know that you have listened to my story and that you believe me… it means more than words could ever describe so I won’t even bother trying!

Gratefully,

“Izalita” –for now 😉

This is Really Happening!?!

I heard back from the publisher and they are interested in my book….HOWEVER… they want me to turn my fictionalized version into a memoir… they said “the passion and clarity appear more so in certain chapters which we believe are the chapters based on the true story. We know you must have enjoyed writing the fantastical ending, however, if you could rewrite this into a memoir and focus on your true story, we believe this would be a more relatable therefore more sellable book.”

Holy fucking shit… so… this is happening… they want the true story!?! The only problem!?! My real story has such a shitty ending right now…

“And for the last few years, I have been hiding and living in silence.. scared to tell my truth.. the end”

It was so much more rewarding to kill the bad guy… but, at the same time… I can see how that is not as believable. Fuck me…. I’ve got to figure out how to write this as a memoir that doesn’t completely fuck up all the innocent people in my life… my kids and my sister’s kids…..

Changing my name is a start, right??

Hi… my name is, now officially, Izalita Ricardi, nice to meet you!!

For the sake of discussing everyone from here on out… I’ll tell you the character names in the book which will be the names I use in the memoir….

My moms name is Nicole (aka Nica)

My sister’s name is also Nicole (yes, named after my mother… in hopes that she would be her one and only perfect child and the perfect mold of herself)

My sister’s husbands name is Chris (aka Chrissy)

And although they were not in the original fictional version of the story… I assume, my daughters might have to be included in the memoir… even if not… I will continue to discuss them in this blog.. so, my daughters names are

Savanna (aka V– long story;) (18 years old) &

Camille (aka Cami) (15 years old)

I guess that’s all for now… I’ll give other people names as needed… but, just as a general disclaimer… as you’re reading this blog and in the future, my memoir, understand that all names have been changed in order to protect the truly innocent human beings (children) because they don’t deserve to know about any of this until the time is right. This is the reason I have stayed silent for so long.. but, I’m so happy I found an editor and (now-I can’t fucking believe it) a PUBLISHER.. that will help me tell my TRUE story while still keeping me and all 4 kids that I love more than myself safe in the process!!

Feeling truly grateful right now!! Which… I must admit… it’s been awhile since I’ve felt this way… I usually say thank you to the universe for the little things in life like the puppy finally shitting outside or my black thumb finally growing fresh basil… it’s been awhile since I’ve had something really BIG to be grateful about and hopeful for!! THANK YOU!!

#MeToo anniversary

On the anniversary of the MeToo movement… where really big-names, important woman came out publicly about sexual harassment and/or rape by unrelated males… this no-one, unimportant woman is internally debating when and how to come forward about being raped by her brother-in-law…. wondering whether anyone would even care.. or believe her… wondering how it could effect her family.. her life.. or worse… if it didn’t… if she came forward and everything stayed exactly the same… nothing changed… no one cares…

Then what would happen?? What could be worse than be raped?? Hmmm… how about being raped and being forced into silence for fear that no one would believe you… or worse.. even if they did believe you.. they simply wouldn’t care… speaking from first hand experience, I can tell you… the latter is worse!

So… happy anniversary MeToo Movement!! Thank you to all the brave women that came before me & gave me the courage to come forward with my story.. perhaps.. maybe.. someday… and an even bigger thanks to those of you that can and will understand the years I spent in silence… I carried the burden of that weight upon my shoulders to protect, not only myself… but, all of the other members of my family that weren’t ready for the truth. I carried that weight and broke my back trying with every ounce of physical ability I had left to hide this secret to maintain the last bit of false pretense “family” that we had left.

I

Tried

My

Hardest

But…, the family fell apart anyway… because deep down he always knew this was coming.. he always knew the truth would surface and in preparation for this day… he convinced my family that I was the bad guy.. that I was the crazy one… he knew this day would come… and because he worked so hard to prepare… he pushed everyone away from me already, therefore… I have nothing left to lose!!

Don’t think he prepared for this…

oh

Fucking

Well

Here… I … am…. I am woman… hear my TRUTH

I was, raped

violently and

repeatedly by

my sister’s husband…

in an attempt to escape the abuse…

I packed up and moved to WV…

to protect myself and my daughters… I fled

Now…. I have been living in silence so suffocating that I no longer speak to anyone besides my daughters… days… weeks.. months and now YEARS… have gone by without a single person calling to check on me… I have disappeared into a hole of silence surrounded by walls of shame and when I look up.. I see a small sliver of light… barely… it’s more like a tiny star… barely visible to the naked eye… but, if I take out my microscope (aka… my computer) and I look closely (aka… write)… I can see it.. I can see the twinkling star in the sky… and I know… that is HOPE…

I

Have

HOPE

I hope I do anyway

What (not) to do when your child is sick…

 

I’ve struggled with this concept for many years & I really can’t figure out how my mother takes such good care of one of her daughters (allowing her to move back home after only living on her own for 3 years) with her husband and children, while completely ignoring her other daughter…. the daughter that is SICK, SINGLE & has two teenage daughters. How… How does she justify her unfair treatment? How does she leave my children alone in the hospital while I’m fighting off serious illness… literally fighting for my life with no one by my bedside other than my two young daughters.. and fuck me… how does she leave THEM (my daughters) alone… while I’m sick???

The only reason I can come up with?!?!….

…. because I’m an “addict” … remember?? See yesterday’s post please… and then, read below…

I think my mother denies my illness and justifies this behavior because she thinks I’m an addict… but, let me ask you this!?!

How could I be an addict? I have two teenage daughters that are with me 24/7, literally… especially in the summer time. We are all, always together… Do you think they’d notice if their mother was high? Not to mention, my eldest daughter and I share the same bank & she has access to my bank account. She can see, each and every month, that every penny I have goes to bills and taking care of them. I cannot remember the last time I bought myself new socks, much less went out “partying” or anything even close to adult-fun.

The whispers behind my back make me sad and worried because I had an aunt… lets call her Aunt “Mindy” and she died a few years ago and my mother & grandmother constantly whispered behind her back and said she was an addict too. The truth is, I don’t know if she was. She was a sweet and loving woman and I just think my mother didn’t like her. So, they talked shit about her behind her back and barely spoke to her. She was the black sheep of the family. Everyone turned their back on her & therefore, her children. I don’t know how/why she died, but I can’t help but feel like if she had more support from her family… she may have lived.

 

because…… Even if it was TRUE!?! Even if I was an ADDICT!?! Their response to this is to leave me alone in WV!?! To leave my daughters ALONE with me in WV!?! That is the response to a family member being an addict!?!

NO…

… my mother went to the NIH, to the family support groups for people dealing with my illness … she knows exactly what I am going through!! Which is why… until HE moved into her house… she was helping me and the girls as much as she could… and then slowly… year by year… that help grew smaller and smaller until BOOM…

eEaster 2018… yell at me for no reason.. cut us off.. (what little help she did provide which by that point was ONLY paying for the Girls homecoming/prom dresses and paying for Cheer/dance fees…. but, that was too much and right before my eldest daughter was about to graduate from HS… she told her that she had NOT even paid the dance fees throughout the year that she claimed to pay, nor help with her prom dress.. inevitably leaving me struggling and broke right as she was graduating.. making her last few months of HS beyond stressful & when we should have been celebrating her graduation & acceptance into a University in the fall!!…. instead we were blindsided by the sudden, huge payments that needed to be made in order for her to graduate… I knew my mother had the ability to sabotage my happiness, as she has done so many times… but, I never knew she would do this to her first granddaughter!!

and why??….b/c according to her……  I deserve it!?!

The girls deserve it!?! (Because they shouldn’t have asked to see their cousins–the only ACTUAL reason she gave us!!) ..

we all deserve THIS…????

abandonment!?! Why??

THINK ON THAT… and then reread yesterday’s post one more time…

I am not an addict!

I am sick…

even if you want to pretend I’m not…

and neither me nor my daughters deserve any of the shit you and HIM have thrown our way!!

And you FUCKING KNOW IT!!!