My story about my first stepfather is a short one. That’s what happens when you have a short marriage, I suppose? Very little memories.
Sometime in 1977, my mother was married to a man named David. I don’t remember a whole lot about David. I remember she met him at an old, run down church that my grandparents were helping restore as a place for recovering drug addicts and alcoholics. Note to self: What you don’t want to do is bring your co-dependant, single, daughter with 2 children to a church function and be around addicts. It’s a guarantee she’ll find love there.
I don’t remember him ever being mean to me. I remember him picking up my puppy, opening the apartment door and tossing the puppy out into the hallway, it’s cries of pain as it hit the wall. I remember sitting out in the hallway with that poor puppy. It didn’t ask to be born to be treated like that. Just bad luck of the draw. I’ll bet that puppy’s mother didn’t think it would ever be treated like that. I’ll bet my mother’s mother didn’t think her daughter would be treated like that, either. Line ‘em up, though, because my mother picked herself a litter of losers.
Not long after, we moved into a drab, crappy, rental house, my mother was pregnant and had twin daughters. Soon after they were born, people were packing up all our stuff in cars and trucks. It was pretty rushed. I didn’t know what was going on but apparently, we were moving. I remember big snow flakes while they packed our belongings up. This seems to be how changes like this were made in my life. Look kids! Mommy brought you home a new Dad! Time to move. Only this time, she was leaving David. I’m guessing this one wasn’t the soul mate God had intended for her., either? Funny how God works like that. Imagine that, God did NOT send you a soul mate who is a drug abuser and alcoholic. Say what?! Turns out God did send her her third husband. At least that is what she wrote in a letter to my sisters when they were 12. God makes a perfect soul mate for everyone and she found hers. Never mind he beat her non-stop, (while I lived with them) and abused her kids, mentally, physically and emotionally. I could so not be friends with my mom if we weren’t mother/daughter. Well…I can’t be friends with her even though we are mother/daughter. But that’s another story.
What have these relationships my mother had, done to me? What about my relationship with my dad? What kind of person was he and how did it shape me? How has all this affected me (and my siblings), emotionally? I’m no therapist, so I don’t know what my diagnosis would be. However, I’m narcissistic enough to want to know what MY therapist thinks about me! Maybe she’d just label me as curious, though. Yes, curious, I like that label much better. Nosy? That suits me better.
I often feel like I don’t believe in myself enough. I’ve had people tell me I should write more. I like to write, but then I’m out there, sharing way too much information with people while I’m telling this story. You’re not reading about me, you’re reading about this person who is telling this story. MY life is perfect! Not so much.
You'll get there, girl. Keep on writing and give yourself time. :)
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