Forgive and Forget

You know how the saying goes, “I forgive, but I don’t forget.”

Makes sense.. you let things go from your heart, but you remember the people that hurt you and keep your guard up in the future. Smart.

However, my mom lives by the opposite sayings in many of life situations.

For example, when I was 14 years old and had just started my first serious relationship, my friends were missing me.

Me-“Mom, Jennifer says we haven’t hung out since I started dating Greg, but Greg wants to come over tonight. Should I tell him no and have a sleepover with my friends?”

Mom-“Honey, Friends come and go, but boys last forever”

I lost a lot of friends that summer and over the years of adolescence ditching them for my boyfriends.

It wasn’t until years later that I realized that all other moms in the ENTIRE world, told their daughters the exact opposite… it really goes, “Boys come and go, but FRIENDS last forever!”

So… back to forgiving and forgetting… not that she consciously does this.. but, I’m almost certain that my mom Never forgives, but Always forgets!!

This unconscious life motto leaves her heart hardened and confused. She’s always mad at someone, but never remembers who or why… which, then lead to explosive family gatherings after she’s had too much to drink. She lashes out on the wrong person about the wrong things and wakes up the next day as if it never happened.

How do you deal with someone that never forgives… but, constantly forgets??

Any advice here would be greatly appreciated!! =)

For now… I’ll take it, like I do many of my troubles and laugh at the irony.

Forgetting and never forgiving seems much more difficult for her than me.

So, maybe I shouldn’t complain?

To Fiction or Not to Fiction??

What is love if you get it secondhand?

Is it a fact or merely a detail?

I am more comfortable in fiction than in nonfiction. In fiction, you get to decide what is real and not real, what is true and not true, which details are facts and which are mere detail. In fiction, I am the discerning eye, the single source of truth. But when I tried to write about my mother, all my stories were flat. I couldn’t move her into fictional language, it seemed. Indeed, my journals about the days of adolescence are full of details about the weather and the feeling that a chasm had opened up in me. I was trying in those early days to pin something down, to assemble a body of details that might give me some hint or clue of how to go on. I also felt that I had no right to feel that way, so sad about her behavior towards me. after all the hateful things I’d thought about her or been subjected to by her hands.

The thing that kept me from writing well about her, about abuse, in fiction was that I lack genuine, human feeling for my mother. Or, no, that’s not true exactly. What I lacked was empathy for her. I was so interested in my own feelings about her that I couldn’t leave room for her feelings or for what she wanted out of life. I couldn’t leave a space for her to be a person. I think, ultimately, other people aren’t real to us until they’re suffering or gone. That’s when the imagination begins to work, trying to sort things out, trying to get them right, to understand them. I can’t write fiction because I haven’t yet mastered my own feelings. I can’t write fiction because I have not yet come to understand her or what her life had meant to her. I am solipsistic and righteous in my anger, my fear, my sadness. However, I missed all of the eerie symmetries between us—her trauma, my trauma, her rape, my rape, her anger, my anger. It’s not that I am ready to forgive her really. But I am trying to extend to her the same grace that my children extended to me. That’s one of the beautiful things about writing, the way we learn about others and what that tells us about ourselves.

Brandon Taylor …. thank you for helping me understand this dilemma of fiction vs memoir and come to terms with the fact that I will not be able to write any fiction until these issues with my past are carefully and fully dissected, discerned & organized!

Get Over It

For the first time in YEARS… I heard a song, playing in my head.. and it wouldn’t stop until I wrote it down… so, here ya go… enjoy… now… I just have to get Madi Love to sing it for me and we’ll be set!! Stay tuned… b/c I will def post here, first if she does!! =)

Get over it… that’s what my Momma said
Get over it… It’s all in your head

Get over it… that’s what She said
Get over it.. it’s just in your head

Then she said the best thing she’s ever said to me
She said write a book and it will set you free

And that is what I did…
to get out of my head
That is what I did…
to sleep while I’m in bed

But, how do I get over it…
when it is all I dream
Can you tell me, please…
what do you mean?

Sometimes the dreams are good…
and then they make me sad
But, most of the time…
the dreams are fucking bad

Get over it… that’s what my Momma said
Get over it… it’s all in your head

Get over it… that’s what She said
Get over it… it’s all in your fucking head

I wish it was as easy as you think
I wish I didn’t live right on the brink

I wish you knew…
just how hard I try
I wish that you knew…
just how much I cry

Don’t you think I want to let it all go
ohhh how I wish you could really know

My life may seem easy to you
but you have no idea what I go through

Get over it… that’s what my Momma said
Get over it… it’s all in your head

Get over it… that’s what she fucking said
Get over it…. it’s all just in your head!!

One Book … One Month … One Dollar!!

I can’t believe that I forgot to mention… the reason the book is written with such an urgency, which transpires to the pages leaving it unputdownable… is that I rented a computer, for $1 down & decided to write the ENTIRE book within a month so I could return it without paying for an additional month!!

So… yes, I’m broke… We’ve already established this… fixed income, etc… However, I’m also super driven to get my story heard and become the writer I was meant to become!!

Hopefully I can edit and change this book into the memoir the publishers want on my phone and semi-quickly so that I can use the money they pay me to buy my daughter the laptop she so desperately wants before she starts college.

So… wish me luck!! And… also, please forgive any grammatical errors as I am now writing this blog and editing the book via cell phone!!

FYI~ Not complaining… perhaps even bragging?? I set out a goal to write an entire book in one month and I did it!!!!

. I told my SECRET…

… got it out of my head and into a story and I did so in less than a month!!

Rockstar Mom may be back in action?!?!!

(fingers & toes crossed so hard they are cramping!!)

Much love peeps… that’s all I’ve got today… Happy Saturday (aka… time-with-kids day!)

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.

Deep… Dark… Deluded and Demented… DUH!!

I need the world to know, I am none of the above… other than “duh” but only on Tuesday’s.

Seriously though…. if you know me… well, I should say, if you KNEW me… You would know that I used to be a fucking Rockstar Mom, teacher, college student, friend and girlfriend. I was light, fluffy, funny and fun!

Now, let me ask you this… when was the last time you called me? Texted me? Spoke to me privately at all? I disappeared from all social media for over a year and in that year.. the only people I spoke to outside my home (my daughters)… was my grandparents.

I’m not mad at you… I’m just proving a point… What happened to me changed me and affected me in ways that I never imagined could happen to someone with a spirit like mine.

The saddest part… the sex… I used to have a really healthy, perhaps even over-active sex-drive. I used to LOVE sex… now, I am broken… literally broken… not only have I not been touched by a man.. and because my daughters are teenagers and touching/hugging is annoying to them now… I haven’t even been hugged, by anyone in longer than I remember… So… I have cats….

I never knew… but, now I do… why crazy, old, lonely ladies have cats… b/c they cuddle and without their love and affection… well… I can’t even imagine…

HOWEVER>>>> the good news??? Writing this book… and now this blog… I am finally starting to feel ALIVE again!! I am, in no way, ready to date… but, I am feeling happy… excited… funny and even sometimes… fun, again.

So…. as deep, dark and demented as the beginning of this blog is… I make you a promise that from here, out… I will try to interject these posts with all of the fun and light stuff going on in my life… or happy memories… or, fuck… maybe even some good sex stories… b/c I did.. once… long, long ago… enjoy sex.. I know I did.. I remember that girl… barely… but, I do!!

PLUS…. and this is the really fun part… since my agent wants me to turn my book into a memoir.. and b/c I have the memory of an 85-year-old woman (hey, she matches the cats), I am pulling out all my old journals to read and remember the actual dates and facts correctly. Fun Fact?? I have written in at least one, sometimes more, journals a year since I was 12 years old (the age I lost my virginity), yet… I have never ONCE gone back and re-read any of them!!! I just have two big Tupperware bins full of journals in storage, which I am pulling out today and taking a journey down Memory Lane.

So… I’m glad you’re here with me.. I have a feeling this isn’t a journey I should take alone… as you’ve already learned… I have some pretty deep and dark stuff to dig through… but, I promise to tell you all the light and funny and sexy stuff too, pinky promise!!

PS~ If I haven’t already, I need to thank you… all the love and support you have shown thus far has given me strength words cannot describe!! I love you all!! 💞☯️🕉☮️💞

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