Merry Christmas…

I used to love Christmas, but this year I don’t like it anymore. It’s just another day. I know it’s Jesus’s birthday and I’m happy that he died for our sins. But I don’t like this holiday. People are just fake. No one cares about anybody but themselves. It’s unbelievable to me the people treat each other so badly.

I’ve been trying so hard to figure out what I’m doing wrong. Why can’t I ever get it right? Why does it have to be so hard? Why does my family not support me? Why does my daughter hate me and won’t talk to me?

I was told by someone much younger than me, that I have never taken responsibility for my actions. I didn’t deserve to be a mother. I’m telling you I could have went through the internet and pull that girls hair out of her head. She doesn’t have a clue what I’ve been through. She’s never walked in my shoes. But she blames me for things she did as a child. Talk about taking responsibility for your own actions, please!!!

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know if I’m going to stay in California or I’m going to go back east. I know I’ve never dealt with any of my problems. I’ve always been told just keep on going. I wasn’t even supposed to mourn William but a week. You stand in somebody’s blood and tell me that it’ll only take you a week to get better. I drank and I drank a lot and yes I wanted to talk about it. But every time I did I was told to shut up. I just want to get better. I just want to be happy. I want my family back. But I won’t get it. Maybe one day my daughter will love me again. I hope so. I hope it’s before I die. If not then I’ll just have to live with that. Because I can’t make her do anything, I never could, I wasn’t allowed. I never had anybody that was there for me. People say it’s not all about you and I know that’s true. But they sure do think a lot about themselves and how they’re so much better than me. If that’s the way you’re supposed to be to be a good person, I don’t want to be one!

So, Merry Christmas…

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Dear Santa,,,

Oh, I thought long and hard before I began to write this. I feel that there has been enough time, although there is never really enough time. I had to learn the hard way, so it seems. Suicide, it’s debilitating. So, this time of year, fond memories start slowly creeping in…

Santa Claus, oh what a happy memory. I remember that some of the best days of my life were at Christmas and the worse days too. Even if it was not heartfelt all the time, people tried to keep it together a little better than the rest of the year. It was something in the air- the smell of red-eye gravy, homemade biscuits and coffee and it was death too. Uncle Harry died.

He was my dad’s youngest brother. He was extremely tall and apparently the blood reverses flow, at times and it didn’t start back for Uncle Harry. He worked across the street from the hospital that I was born. CPR would have saved him, but in 1967, it hadn’t been discovered.

On December 27, 1967 my baby brother was born, six months premature. The lining of the womb had a tear and he didn’t make it home to meet me. He would be 50 this year. Happy Birthday, baby Brother! I miss him and I never laid eyes on him. The months that followed were hard on my mom and dad. This is where mine and my mother’s relationship ceased to exist and we even know it. My mom, she’s tough, couldn’t show signs of weakness. I, however, could bring out the worst in her. It was definitely not the sign of a weak woman.

I remember good times at Christmas. Seems we could always count on Christmas making things “alright” again. Just give me a Sears and Roebuck catalog, oh my God I would sit for hours writing down page numbers, sizes. What Santa could get if they were out of this or that. I bet I must have had a hundred things that Santa could choose from and I just wanted one. But I would make a long list, just to make sure that I got something that I wanted. Something he didn’t have to worry about was me being picky. I wanted to make sure he had eaten his cookies and drank his milk. He had a lot of that on Christmas Eve night, you know?? I didn’t at 3, lol.

I just wanted to fill you in on the significance of Christmas. It was such a big part of my memories throughout my life. I didn’t realize it for a long time, but as I grew older and moved and moved and moved again, I would come back to the house. It wasn’t the same house, but it was their house, my parents house.

Everyone has to get up early on Christmas morning and if we didn’t spend the night there the night before, they waited on everybody to get there. That was a chore for Miss E. We ate a huge breakfast with grits, biscuits and gravy, sausage & cheese egg casserole. It wasn’t the same as when I was little, but for a little girl name Miss E, it was the beginning of her enjoyment of Santa.

How I miss those mornings, watching her open presents. One Christmas she’s hollering, “Oh Mommy, mommy I got socks!” If I could take it all back now, everything I ever did I would. But I can’t, so now I’m asking Santa to listen very carefully, because what I want for Christmas is not going to be an easy task.

I want to be forgiven, by a little angel named Miss E. I know I don’t deserve it, but I ask you with all my heart, to show her how to forgive me. So that she can go on and live, without regret. I don’t want to cause her anymore pain.

I used to sing to her until she went to sleep. She was in junior high before she wouldn’t let me do it anymore. “You Are My Sunshine”, I sang that song so many times. I’d be horse, but I did it over and over, just for her, because I loved her more than I love myself. I got lost and forgotten. Trampled on and beaten, until I couldn’t see the things around me. I gave up, not on her, but on me. She means everything to me. Some people say I was a bad mother. Maybe I was. People say that I’ve never taken accountability for my actions, never taken responsibility. They also blame me for doing things that even they knew they shouldn’t do. Because why?? Because they took responsibility and learned from their mistakes?? I on the other hand, should be a better person than that. I should not have allowed it. Maybe so. I don’t remember getting the memo on how you’re supposed to take on the weight of the world. Sure they may not get in trouble, but I didn’t even get the book on how to raise child and do it right.

No regrets. I do remember my mom telling me that I was a good mother. I was at one time. I don’t think I was that bad a mother. I did the best I knew to do at the time. They had no regard for what I wanted anyway, it was all about what she wanted and what they wanted and the hell with Kim and what she wants. She’s only the mother. The same people didn’t talk to me for 3 months after I told them I was pregnant and not married. These people were my parents.

Santa, take care of my Miss E. I always gave her the best of things. It wasn’t enough. I thought she had forgiven me, but apparently I was wrong. Give me the strength to not get mad when people say foolish things that they have no idea about. Help me to understand that I am human. That I’m not perfect and I have made a lot of mistakes. I would just like one day to be able to hold her in my arms again and love her the way I used to do when she was a child. Maybe coax her to call me sometimes, LOL. I don’t think she’s a bad person. I think she’s been misguided. I think she needs to learn forgiveness and compassion. Make the light shine on her this year. Let her know every turn every Moon every Star that falls from the sky that I’m there with her always. I will be with her even after death. I don’t want her to have to suffer and learn things over again and again like I have.

Thank you Santa. I hope I know what I’m doing now. Things have been so disorganized and bad since William died. It left me in a hell of a mess. I have nowhere to go anymore. I don’t have a purpose. But I’m trying to heal. I know people think I’m not trying at all, but I am. Also I just like to say this while I’m asking Santa, would you please give us this year.? I really feel like this year I’ll be at a point that she’ll understand me now. I think she’s grown up enough. Just open her eyes and let her see me! Because I’m not that bad person that I used to be. I’m her mommy or as she used to say, Mammy. Give her big hugs and kisses for me please and I’ll just wait patiently. I know patience is not my virtue, but I am learning to be more patient and understanding.

Thank you Santa. Thank you God. Bless everyone this year…

Dear Santa,,,

This Time…

I find myself alone again, maybe the first time since I moved to California. This month is very emotional for me. This is August. The 12th was Miss E’s bday, the 16th my daddy’s. Then the dreaded 26th. That day all over again. My new beau seems to understand at moments. I believe he just gives up. He’s a person of words. The hit to the bone, but that’s not really him. He’s been through things that are so unbelievable that they have to be true. I just feel as if I’m paying for it sometimes. I “see” him. Not who he thinks he has to be.  Sometimes I can’t even look a certain way, it’s like he’s trying to run me off.

He was supposed to be going fishing tonight, but idk something happened and it’s going to be tomorrow night. I’m sorta glad he didn’t go,it meant he would hopefully come back to me. I’m selfish that way I guess. I also wish he had gone. He needed to be away from me as much as I needed to be alone. I haven’t written in so long. It’s my therapy, so why do I not take care of myself?

I’m so upset with Miss E, I could send her to the moon. She didn’t answer my text or my phone calls for her bday. I finally called and sang “Happy Birthday” and left it on her voicemail. Still, no answer. Not even FUCK YOU! I guess I really am the selfish, cold-hearted, bitch that everyone thinks I am. I really don’t care anymore. I just want to be ME. Whoever that is now. Some moments I feel as though I know who I am and what I want out of life. Other times I feel that no one understands me and I’m at the end of my rope.

The closer it gets to the “two” year anniversary mark I get more emotional. I guess in a way I feel that I’m not being faithful. In other ways, I forget, then there are days I want to crawl under a rock and hide from everyone and forget what’s happened. It works sometimes, even if just for a moment. But then the dreaded truth comes back to my head and I remember the last moments of “our” life together. The waking up with my remarkable husband, holding me and making love to me. Me, rolling over to ask what he wanted for breakfast and then off to make the coffee. I can’t remember if he even drank a sip. The last time I saw his living being, before it all ended and I lost my world. I found out how the world really is and what people think of me and who is also there for me, in a time that I need them. I’ve found that’s not too many people.

People forget. People don’t want to hear what you NEED to talk about. They use all your insecurities against you and hate you because they believe you to be a victim. I have been a victim, but I’m not using it as an excuse to like or hate me. I am who I am. I don’t try to be anything I’m not. I’ve had people tell me, “just be yourself”. The problem with that is I’m always myself. Maybe to afraid sometimes to say what I’m really thinking, but always me. This time…

The Sixth Move…

Well, this will be the sixth move since William died in our house, in our bed, where I found him. Now I’m a nomad, searching for answers that I may or may not find. Yeah, Bob and I got into it, again. He’d been drinking. I tried to get out of the conversation, but it didn’t work to good.

Then later around 9 I go to bed, even turn the tv off. I hear him very loudly, calling my name. I thought I was dreaming. He was bent out of shape because the neighbor was playing opera too loud. LMAO. I wanted to choke him, but I didn’t think I had the strength and I’d left my gun back in NC because he’s a convicted felon. I know you got a hundred questions now, but it had to do with kids and it was in the 80’s and blah, blah…anyway this has nothing to do with that. But I’m tired of his smart ass remarks about William and putting me down and changing what he thinks my duties and such for my discounted rent, which he says he pays me for. I’ve never seen the green. 

Then he says I can’t watch his dog while he’s gone out of town because he thinks I’ll kill her. Comes back last night and ask if I was going to keep her. I told him NO. 

He thinks I live in the past, well if what’s happened since William died is any indication of the future, I’ll continue to stay exactly where I am. At least I know William loved and adored me, faults and all. So, off we’ll go on the sixth move…

Gloomy Weather…

It’s been windy and cloudy, some sun. Not enough to put your suit on and layout on the beach, at least not this chick. I guess I’m just going to come straight out and tell you guys I’ve been on a date. It was ok. I didn’t die. Neither did they, lol. I’m ready to move again. I’m terrible. The next couple of months are called the gloomy months. Great! But I had rainy seasons in Asia, so there we go, lol.

Going to write in my book today, first time since I got here. I’m just now half way figuring out which way I need to go. It takes time. Southerns aren’t necessarily welcome. But it’s all good. Just gloomy weather…

Numbers, Faces, Sounds…

I now often think I truly am going crazy or at least that what I’ve heard people call me. I don’t care anymore. Today is one of my numbers, the 26th. Not my favorite number, it’s the day that William shot himself after he opened the text I had sent him. It said- I love you too BABA!

Today I see faces in mind, reminding me of how happy I used to be. I wonder if I could  even find half.I’m not saying that we never had argument, we worked together, lived together, what do you think, lol. But we LOVED each other, it was magic. I don’t know how to explain.

This sounds, it all the planes and motorcycles sometimes startled me. Not all of them, it a certain tone. It’s a certain pitch. Not one I’ll ever forget. I cry every time I hear Eric Clapton play, our last concert. All the different sounds that play around in my head. Numbers, faces, sounds…

I Can’t Believe This…

My brother finally made in around 8 pm Saturday night. I got to see him a couple of hours. He was actually here to see a lady from Vietnam he had been introduced to several years ago. She lives here in San Diego, but my brother in living in Vietnam, getting ready to move to Hong Kong. Talk about long distance relationship. So all day Sunday she had the whole day planned. She’s lived here about 20 years. He finally gets back to the hotel at 8:45 pm.

Bob and I are waiting, have been since 8:15 pm. I thought my older brother might want to meet my male roommate. My brother barely said hello. He talked a little to Bob, but only slightly. Bob made a comment about it this morning, he said you looked happy to see your brother. Your brother didn’t look happy to see you. I always thought my family felt this way about me, but I have been validated. I can’t believe this…