So it's been a long time since I added a new post, and for that I am sorry, not for others, but for myself.
The last year or so has been increasingly difficult for myself and for my family. I was diagnosed with multiple heart problems, had another baby, lost my job, and began a new one. I have begun picking up as many hours as is humanly possible, to try to make ends meet, and somehow it is still doing nothing. I realize that my family is one of many going through this but it is still excruciatingly difficult for me to deal with at this time. More to come, I don't have the heart to go into it further.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Changing Tunes
Recent times have lead me to believe that living in the past is never going to help me. There is no one who is interested in my story, and likely never will be. However, the here and the now is something that affects not only me but everyone around me. For that reason, I am changing tunes.
I am set to be getting married in September of this year. Over the past few weeks, my brain has been reeling with so many thoughts that I don't even know how to process them all. My finance and I have an almost two year old daughter, whom we were pregnant with almost at the very beginning of our relationship. We had a long established friendship, but never had moved it into anything serious. Lately, and by lately i mean the past year or so, he and I have been struggling with almost every aspect of life that one can struggle with. We have had car problems, lost cars, been broke, been unable to pay bills or buy food, dealt with a sick baby, and so much more.
All of these things have put a huge amount of stress on our relationship. It has me thinking if the relationship we began with is or was really strong enough to withstand all of the trials of everyday life for the working class american. The love and adoration is there, deep down, but there is no longer any affection romance or intimacy to our relationship. Some days it feels as though I have a room mate whom i happen to have a child with. I know that these are not positive thoughts to be having when you are planning a wedding, especially one that is two months away and basically paid for, however, I cannot continue to hide the way i have been feeling.
I do love him, he is an excellent support system, a terrific father, and an overall good person. My fear is that we merely love each other, and all of the stress and trials that we have been through have caused us cease being IN love. There is such a large difference between the two, and I am terrified that we may not be able to leap over the chasm before it is too late.
In an attempt to repair things, I spent time this morning and wrote a letter (the old fashioned way) to my fiance. I tried my hardest to explain all of the massive rambling thoughts that have been pouring through my brain, and I can only pray that what my pen spilled onto the paper will come across in the correct way and that he will understand what it is that I need, or rather what it is that WE need.
This is a call for help, a terribly desperate call for help.
I am set to be getting married in September of this year. Over the past few weeks, my brain has been reeling with so many thoughts that I don't even know how to process them all. My finance and I have an almost two year old daughter, whom we were pregnant with almost at the very beginning of our relationship. We had a long established friendship, but never had moved it into anything serious. Lately, and by lately i mean the past year or so, he and I have been struggling with almost every aspect of life that one can struggle with. We have had car problems, lost cars, been broke, been unable to pay bills or buy food, dealt with a sick baby, and so much more.
All of these things have put a huge amount of stress on our relationship. It has me thinking if the relationship we began with is or was really strong enough to withstand all of the trials of everyday life for the working class american. The love and adoration is there, deep down, but there is no longer any affection romance or intimacy to our relationship. Some days it feels as though I have a room mate whom i happen to have a child with. I know that these are not positive thoughts to be having when you are planning a wedding, especially one that is two months away and basically paid for, however, I cannot continue to hide the way i have been feeling.
I do love him, he is an excellent support system, a terrific father, and an overall good person. My fear is that we merely love each other, and all of the stress and trials that we have been through have caused us cease being IN love. There is such a large difference between the two, and I am terrified that we may not be able to leap over the chasm before it is too late.
In an attempt to repair things, I spent time this morning and wrote a letter (the old fashioned way) to my fiance. I tried my hardest to explain all of the massive rambling thoughts that have been pouring through my brain, and I can only pray that what my pen spilled onto the paper will come across in the correct way and that he will understand what it is that I need, or rather what it is that WE need.
This is a call for help, a terribly desperate call for help.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Long Awaited Return
I didn't realize when I started this project how incredibly difficult and invasive the process was going to be. That being said, I gave up on writing for a while, as I found that it was just making me more upset about things that I can change than is necessary.
When last I posted, I was discussing my move into our new home. My mother and I moved into a wonderful house that sits on a beautiful lake. While I always had a difficult time with interacting with others growing up, I was able to make a few new friends in the new home. The days of elementary school pass in a blur to me, perhaps because I have chosen to black out the memories, and perhaps because I truly do not remember.
The most significant occurrence during these years was that my mother met the man that would later become my father.
This man, whom I still refer to by his first name came into my life shortly after the time we moved into our new house. He and my mother were married two or three years later, and he has been a constant form of support for me, a fact that I am sure he is unaware of. My relationship with my new step-father was on the rocks for quite some time, as I have said earlier, I do not adjust to change very easily To this day, the man who is now my legal father is still known by everyone who knows my by his first name. This is not out of a lack of respect or any such action, but merely that I cannot bring myself to say the word Dad.
This fact in and of itself is saddening to me.
When last I posted, I was discussing my move into our new home. My mother and I moved into a wonderful house that sits on a beautiful lake. While I always had a difficult time with interacting with others growing up, I was able to make a few new friends in the new home. The days of elementary school pass in a blur to me, perhaps because I have chosen to black out the memories, and perhaps because I truly do not remember.
The most significant occurrence during these years was that my mother met the man that would later become my father.
This man, whom I still refer to by his first name came into my life shortly after the time we moved into our new house. He and my mother were married two or three years later, and he has been a constant form of support for me, a fact that I am sure he is unaware of. My relationship with my new step-father was on the rocks for quite some time, as I have said earlier, I do not adjust to change very easily To this day, the man who is now my legal father is still known by everyone who knows my by his first name. This is not out of a lack of respect or any such action, but merely that I cannot bring myself to say the word Dad.
This fact in and of itself is saddening to me.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Day Three, Moving up and moving on
I have few memories that stand out in my mind from my elementary school years. There are a few moments in time that I feel have had a substantial impact on the person I have become.
One of these memories revolves around my father. I spent nearly all of my childhood completely in the dark as to who my father was. Don't get me wrong, my mother showed me pictures and told me stories, but the man who rarely, if ever, paid child support, never came to visit, never sent cards, never called to wish me a happy birthday. When I was around seven years of age, my mother received word that my father had been arrested, and was being held in the county jail. At this point in our lives together, she had started dating the man who would later go on to marry her, adopt me, and give me a beautiful baby sister. My future step-father stood back quietly while my mother informed me that for once she knew where my father was and that if I so chose, I could go and meet the man who had created my life.
I recall the visit occurring on a weekend shortly after my mother informed me of where my father was. I had decided that I wanted to meet him, and so my mother brought me to the county jail. I vividly remember entering the facility, walking through metal detectors and past officers with guns at the ready. We proceeded through the jail to the visiting area, where we sat behind a piece of plexi-glass and we were able to speak to my father via a phone. The conversation that I remember was so uneventful and one-sided that it is almost unnecessary to convey the dialog. In short, he promised to call, promised to write, and gave out so many other promises that were never fulfilled.
I took the experience, and decided to put the man behind me, as a waste of time, a waste of tears, and a waste of energy. Around the same time, my mother and I moved into our own home, which she had worked tirelessly to purchase for the two of us. The new house meant a new school, new friends, and a lot of adjustments to deal with.
I never have dealt with change well.
One of these memories revolves around my father. I spent nearly all of my childhood completely in the dark as to who my father was. Don't get me wrong, my mother showed me pictures and told me stories, but the man who rarely, if ever, paid child support, never came to visit, never sent cards, never called to wish me a happy birthday. When I was around seven years of age, my mother received word that my father had been arrested, and was being held in the county jail. At this point in our lives together, she had started dating the man who would later go on to marry her, adopt me, and give me a beautiful baby sister. My future step-father stood back quietly while my mother informed me that for once she knew where my father was and that if I so chose, I could go and meet the man who had created my life.
I recall the visit occurring on a weekend shortly after my mother informed me of where my father was. I had decided that I wanted to meet him, and so my mother brought me to the county jail. I vividly remember entering the facility, walking through metal detectors and past officers with guns at the ready. We proceeded through the jail to the visiting area, where we sat behind a piece of plexi-glass and we were able to speak to my father via a phone. The conversation that I remember was so uneventful and one-sided that it is almost unnecessary to convey the dialog. In short, he promised to call, promised to write, and gave out so many other promises that were never fulfilled.
I took the experience, and decided to put the man behind me, as a waste of time, a waste of tears, and a waste of energy. Around the same time, my mother and I moved into our own home, which she had worked tirelessly to purchase for the two of us. The new house meant a new school, new friends, and a lot of adjustments to deal with.
I never have dealt with change well.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Day Two, A Real Man Emerges
During the time that my mother and I lived with my grandparents, my grandfather had a stroke, and became weak. He ceased working, and retired, permanently disabled. The man whom I have always called Papa, came to play with me while my mother was away at work. I spend day in and day out in the company of my grandmother and grandfather, while they subtly taught me lessons I would never forget.
My grandmother gave me bits and pieces of her talents and her artistic abilities, in teaching my how to knit, and more importantly, how to sew. It began with simple doll clothing, and eventually became a passion I later used to fuel the creation of many prom dresses, and enrollment at a school for fashion design.
My grandfather passed on to me a love for the world. We took walks, went fishing, flew kites, learned bird calls, and so many more things that I could never adequately put into writing. I recall walking down the road with him at a very early age, searching for "river rocks," which were in fact the faux gem stones one can buy at a gem & mineral store. I don't know when or how he did it, but he would hide the stones, and then take me for a walk so that I could uncover my treasures.
Because of my grandfather, I learned the names and sounds of more birds than I can remember at this point. I learned to identify fish, flowers, and trees. Most importantly, I learned to appreciate the world I was growing up in. He created and helped me to nourish a love for horses, one that most horse-crazy girls saw as obsessive. I saved almost every dollar I found so that I could attend summer camps, and later take lessons and attend shows and competitions.
This was the first time a man proved himself to me, this man became my father.
My grandmother gave me bits and pieces of her talents and her artistic abilities, in teaching my how to knit, and more importantly, how to sew. It began with simple doll clothing, and eventually became a passion I later used to fuel the creation of many prom dresses, and enrollment at a school for fashion design.
My grandfather passed on to me a love for the world. We took walks, went fishing, flew kites, learned bird calls, and so many more things that I could never adequately put into writing. I recall walking down the road with him at a very early age, searching for "river rocks," which were in fact the faux gem stones one can buy at a gem & mineral store. I don't know when or how he did it, but he would hide the stones, and then take me for a walk so that I could uncover my treasures.
Because of my grandfather, I learned the names and sounds of more birds than I can remember at this point. I learned to identify fish, flowers, and trees. Most importantly, I learned to appreciate the world I was growing up in. He created and helped me to nourish a love for horses, one that most horse-crazy girls saw as obsessive. I saved almost every dollar I found so that I could attend summer camps, and later take lessons and attend shows and competitions.
This was the first time a man proved himself to me, this man became my father.
Day One, Faded Memories of the Past
I doubt that there are many out there who will be interested in the story I have to tell. I write this selfishly, as I hope that by putting my experiences into text I can make a bit more sense out of life. My idealization of my story puts into light the idea that somehow, somewhere, someone will take something from my experiences that could help to assist them.
That being said, let me begin...
My mother and father married early, during their early twenties (in the late eighties). Shortly there after, my mother found herself pregnant with me. I was neither planned, nor avoided, from the stories I have been told. I know little about my mother's pregnancy, and only saw pictures of her pregnant for the first time a little over a year ago, when I myself became pregnant with my first child.
During the beginning stages of their marriage, I know very little, and all I can state from my own personal experience is that they divorced when I was a little over a year old. I know from many a story, and many an experience that this split broke my mother's heart and left her very lonely. We moved in with my grandparents, where I spent the majority of my youngest years.
From here I am able to begin to tell stories that I myself remember bits and pieces of.
My father had little or no interaction with me during those years. The first recollection I have of him occurred when I was somewhere around three years of age. I do not know who arranged the meeting, and it is not terribly relevant in my recollection of events, however, my mother an I were to meet the man who began my life at a run-down gas station in Camden, New Jersey.
The trip was made during one of the colder months of the year, when it was far too cold to be sitting outside to wait for a man who was never to show his face at the location that day. Instead, we were invited inside, where I recall huddling over a space heater for a few hours. My mother, in my opinion being very idealistic at the time, took me from the garage, and we went to visit the State Aquarium (a believe this was meant to be a diversion from the real reason for the trip). Sadly, I do not recall a thing about the trip to the aquarium, though I can still see the gas station, the kerosene heater, and my mother's face quite clearly in my mind.
This is the first time that a man let me down.
I moved on to complete a few years of school, as a troubled child with many behavioral problems. My mother worked as much as she could, as a travel agent, which was a job she loved. I do not know if it was because of her occupation, or merely the fact that my mother loved to travel, but I recall many vacations, most of which were centered around my birthday. I look back fondly at these memories, and the quality time spent with the woman who made me the person I am today. Most vacations we drove to our end destination. These drives were filled with midnight conversations (it was my job to make sure Mommy didn't get tired while she was driving), of topics that I don't think anyone realized I understood or would remember, though they still linger in and out of my thoughts.
Pictures are the only thing that brings these memories to life for me any longer, and I wonder, have I tried to shut them out?
That being said, let me begin...
My mother and father married early, during their early twenties (in the late eighties). Shortly there after, my mother found herself pregnant with me. I was neither planned, nor avoided, from the stories I have been told. I know little about my mother's pregnancy, and only saw pictures of her pregnant for the first time a little over a year ago, when I myself became pregnant with my first child.
During the beginning stages of their marriage, I know very little, and all I can state from my own personal experience is that they divorced when I was a little over a year old. I know from many a story, and many an experience that this split broke my mother's heart and left her very lonely. We moved in with my grandparents, where I spent the majority of my youngest years.
From here I am able to begin to tell stories that I myself remember bits and pieces of.
My father had little or no interaction with me during those years. The first recollection I have of him occurred when I was somewhere around three years of age. I do not know who arranged the meeting, and it is not terribly relevant in my recollection of events, however, my mother an I were to meet the man who began my life at a run-down gas station in Camden, New Jersey.
The trip was made during one of the colder months of the year, when it was far too cold to be sitting outside to wait for a man who was never to show his face at the location that day. Instead, we were invited inside, where I recall huddling over a space heater for a few hours. My mother, in my opinion being very idealistic at the time, took me from the garage, and we went to visit the State Aquarium (a believe this was meant to be a diversion from the real reason for the trip). Sadly, I do not recall a thing about the trip to the aquarium, though I can still see the gas station, the kerosene heater, and my mother's face quite clearly in my mind.
This is the first time that a man let me down.
I moved on to complete a few years of school, as a troubled child with many behavioral problems. My mother worked as much as she could, as a travel agent, which was a job she loved. I do not know if it was because of her occupation, or merely the fact that my mother loved to travel, but I recall many vacations, most of which were centered around my birthday. I look back fondly at these memories, and the quality time spent with the woman who made me the person I am today. Most vacations we drove to our end destination. These drives were filled with midnight conversations (it was my job to make sure Mommy didn't get tired while she was driving), of topics that I don't think anyone realized I understood or would remember, though they still linger in and out of my thoughts.
Pictures are the only thing that brings these memories to life for me any longer, and I wonder, have I tried to shut them out?
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