ITS MY LIFE.....YOU CAN LIVE IT TOO

A favorite question of mine is what am I so mad, and vicious, and cruel. Why am I easily hurt it may seem at times. Why do I go all out for revenge? Why am I weird? Why do I suffer from depression at times? It is simple. I have never felt the love of anyone without some type of bullshit to go along with it. This is going to be pretty much a ramble, that’s my style. Lets go back to the eighties. Maybe seventies, its not like I looked at the calendar when I was a kid. When I was maybe five, I could remember my mother’s brother watching me sometimes if she had to work, either him, my aunt, or grandma. My uncle Allan would beat on me unmercifully, al the time. I know I always fought back, but shit he had me by like 6 years or so. Now that I remember, he did it to impress his friends. I can say that I hated him then, but I loved him the same, he was my older brother basically. Being analytical, I am guessing that he was jealous. He was no longer the baby of the family. There was a new sheriff in town, and I was the dude wearing the badge. He committed suicide when he was nineteen. The day of the funeral, when everyone was ready to leave and go to the services, I couldn’t make it down the stairs. I screamed and cried and I wouldn’t allow anyone to take me. I was maybe eight or nine when that happened. I never went to the funeral. Instead, my cousin Travis stayed at the house, and chilled with me. We played video games, and ate junk food the entire day. I will always love him for that. None of that is the reason why I am who I am now. At least I wont admit it, if it were.

Let me tell you about my mom. She and I would have so much fun up until then. She was that mom that you could just be cool with forever before that happened. I mean, it was just us. She had me in the boy scouts. Went on little adventures. I remember the day Marvin Gaye died, and she pulled over to cry, after we heard it on the radio. She would throw me surprise birthday parties in the middle of the week,lol. I remember one time, she took me to see Purple Rain, thinking it was about prince and his music. I guess she didn’t know the guy was a freak. There was a purify yourself scene, and she grabbed my head and held my eyes shut. I still got a peek at Appolonia’s tits though. It was the time where you could see like four movies for four bucks. DC cab was up after that. I remember when my pops was trying o take me away from her at one point, and she sat on the bed in our apartment, and cried her eyes out. I was a little dude, and I jumped on the bed, and I hugged her and cried too, and told her I would never leave her. I don’t think this is chronological, just things that I started to remember as I write this.

Why wouldn’t I go stay with my pops? Because at an early age, I knew he hated me. Its odd for a kid to say that. But I really felt it times. I cant say that I remember seeing him a lot early on in life. He always would tell me that he didn’t know where I was for three years. Which I find strange, because I was in the same city, literally ten blocks away. At the same house where the photo of a newborn me was taken. With him and mom present. When he finally did come around, I was uncomfortable. Talking to his ex wife not too long ago, I found out that he hid me from her for a while into their marriage. And being the good woman she was, she told him that he needed to stand the fuck up, and be a man. I cannot honestly say that I have any great memories with him. Looking back, they are few if any at all. When I did go for the visitations, he would keep trying to get me to say that I wanted to live with him. He had a good job, and would give a lot of shit. But it seemed even at those times that, I had a price on me, that I could be bought. But the biggest reason why I wouldn’t, is because he treated me like shit in front of others. When I was young, I don’t know what age, had to be between 5 and 7 I guess, he played me royally. There was some type of family gathering, and my whole family was there at my grandma’s house. My cousins and me were running around playing. I had to take a shit something serious. Someone was in the bathroom, and I couldn’t get in. I mean the shit was coming, I was on prairie dog status, in and out. I finally got in, but it was somewhat too late. My drawers were stained a little. Shit happens, literally, right? You know this man, had me undress in front of the whole family and berated me, laughed at me, I mean point and laugh type of deal. The whole family laughed at me. Maybe some didn’t, but still, why do this? I felt so small, I wanted to die right then, and I didn’t even know what the hell death was. Fucked up shit always happened from him to me. Live with him? And go through this shit seven days a week? Damned all of that for real. I don’t know what I ever did to this dude except be born. Every other weekend when I went to his place, I went thru just the dumbest beatings ever. He would beat me because he said I didn’t wash my hair when I took a bath. I was a kid. Shit, I’m in the tub playing with g.i. joe’s and shit. But, like clockwork, he would come in there with beer. And ask if I washed my hair. And when I did, I said yes, he would call me a liar, and slap the shit out of me. But he sure one upped that. He would get big assed cups, tell me to put my head back, and throws big cups of water in my face. And if I put my head down, another slap would come. Never mind me possibly drowning or some shit. I mean this went on for years, every two weekends. I would see a grin on his face at times too. I really think this dude wanted to kill me. Its like he took out all his anger on me. And it couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Check out how mom flipped.

After her brother passed. Mom was a totally different person. She was just not the same moms as mentioned earlier. The change was like overnight. I remember when my uncle passed, and when the phone call came in. I just had a feeling. She said “oh no”, and I ran into her room crying, because of this feeling I had. She threw down the phone, and we sat there, sobbing like two old drunks. After it was all said and done, the change in mom was ridiculously crazy. She would just call me all types of shits, ugly, dumb bastards. She would tell me that I was lucky she didn’t cut me up and put me in the stove. In the morning, she would come in and spray me with water bottles. And I received a lot of ass whippings fir really, no reason at all. Which now I find funny, because I was a mischievous kid. And I got caught a lot times. These ass whippings would come from no where. I guess I was too young to know what was going on. Mom had a damned good job then and we weren’t balling, but she had enough to do what she had to do. Not even 4 months later, she quit her job, and we moved back to the house where I was born at, or raised at for the first 5 years. The same apartment that my uncle stayed in before he committed suicide. What the fuck was she thinking? I even had the same pleasure of sleeping in the same room he did. I would hear all types of shit at night. Or at least what my imagination told me I was hearing. I would put my head underneath the covers, and have my clock radio with me, so I could listen to music all night, so I wouldn’t hear things.

She was just over. Mom became someone else. She had got with an old boyfriend. Larry, I hate him to this day, and to be honest, if he is still alive, I’d kill him. That is the truth. Larry was a drug addict. He would get high, or not even be high, and beat the shit out of me. I mean seriously beat me up. Here I am, a kid, getting my ass kicked by mom, father on weekends, and some addict. I mean, just how lucky was I? One time this dude cut the cord to the television so that when I plugged it up, I might have gotten electrocuted or something. I can laugh now, but then, I was trying to see hot traxx late at night or something. Back then, I didn’t wonder, but my mom never stopped him from doing what he did to me. We had a cat named pooh, and this cat would go throughout the house, and somehow get stuck on top of the tile in the bathroom. Obviously there were holes in the walls. One day I got the cat out, and when I put the tile back, I found a needle, some steel wool, and a bottle cap. I told my mom when she got home. Guess what? Another ass whipping. And when ole boy got home, I was thrown around the house like a rag doll. I was fucked up, because who could I go to? My pops, the evil taskmaster of hair washing? Grandma, who would only call my mother to tell her what I told her leading to impending death? I had no one!

Funny, one day that dude hit my moms after he found out she got rid of a baby. She then chose to kick him out. Funny, he should have been gone after beating me down. But, what can you do, right? When your like nine years old you can only do so much. She gave him the boot. But, a few days later, he bust down the door, knocked me down, and took my moms money, and the keys to the car they bought together. He was trying to kill her or something, I don’t know. I ran to the front of the house, and got a brick, from when the steps was being re-done. I was trying to tax that ass. I must have had some look on my face. That nigga looked at me like he saw the devil himself, and started running towards the front of the house. I got a brick in each hand, and started darting themshits towards his head, all while I had tears rolling down my face. I got him in the head with one, the other I didn’t throw because he was out of my reach. Instead, I threw it at reeq from down the street, because he was shouldn’t have seen that happen. He didn’t talk to me for like a month. In kid days, it was more like 5 days. But, Larry, if you are reading this, just know, you are dead, if you aren’t already.

Back to dear old dad. There is no way anyone can convince me that this dude did not try to kill me. I don’t know what is up with this guy and his whole fascination with wate, and using it as a tool for murder. Or accidental death n this case. We al went to Virginia one summer. Me, I was bored, because there is nothing, or there wasn’t nothing for a kid my age to do there. Virginia beach is for lovers and shit, not families. I guess I got the beer trait, because he had a stash the whole time there as well. And as always I was getting an ass whipping for something I that I had no clue, what for. Here I am, a kid of seven, and this dude is throwing me in the deep part of the pool. I couldn’t swim, you would think he knew huh? I mean after all, I didn’t take too well to water being thrown down my face and nose. Was that some type of conditioning or something? But, nonetheless I survived, I guess it didn’t sit well with him. One day on the beach, on the sand, he decided to have a little “us” time. Cool, why not right? The waves that day were so fucking high. There were people moving their towels and umbrellas back, so they wouldn’t get hit, or washed out to sea. Pops grabs my had, and says lets go jump some waves. Finally, some fun, some real bonding. About time, I thought. So we go down to the edge, or to the surf or whatever the fuck you call it. He is holding my hand really tight for some reason. Like, super vise grip tight. Now, I was a little guy then, and these waves were much bigger than I was. So, here comes the wave. I mean, I was looking up at it type of big. So, here the wave comes, and crashes down on me. But before it came, my hand was let go. The shit hit me, and threw me down, and a I was being dragged a little bit. Someone grabbed me, picked me up, and put me back on the dry sand. I couldn’t even see. I grabbed the first towel I sat on, and wiped my face. And there was pops, about 15 feet away, laying on the towel, dry as hell. Laughing his sick ass off. Pointing and laughing. If there is anything good about me, its my memory. I just don’t get people sometimes. Its like they don’t know I am crazy or something. Well, they do, but….

At age 11, things were super bad in the household. I mean I literally got beat down for nothing. Now, a lot of kids think that all beatings are for nothing, but I can guarantee this for myself. There were times, that my mother would hide things in books of mine, like a 4 month old lotto ticket, that wasn’t a winner, and then out of no where come and ask me what I did with it. When the right answer didn’t come, the broomstick did. Crack, crack crack, right upside the head. It was like clockwork, I don’t know if this had anything to do with pms or anything, but shit. It happened more than once a month. She would do things like completely destroy my room, I mean the room was already a mess, but I mean just shit all over. And the fuck me up for allowing for it to get that way. This was some new new shit. Being that I was getting older. Simple slaps, and a couple fists wouldn’t do it. Every year, it was a new weapon. I mean, I was getting hit with chairs. One time she hit me square in the nuts with a thick assed broom handle. It wasn’t one of those 99 cent store brooms. It was the official two hand using kind. I remember when I was in 8th grade. One morning, I was getting ready to go to school, and moms snapped on me about something, and so I was like like ‘what?”. That was it, that’s all I had to say. She stabbed me in the neck, with one of those big metal forks. The ones with just two prongs. Blood was gushing. I didn’t cry, because it was like, I’ve been through so much shit, that it wasn’t that surprising. I went and washed my neck, got a couple of band aides, and went my bloody neck having ass to school. I don’t know what happened, but 4 periods into school, my mom came to get me to take me to the hospital. Funny, she took me to the same hospital I was born in. while they were stitching me up, I head my mother telling the nurse that she didn’t want me. And for them to please take me away. She said I wasn’t worth anything, she hated me, and she wished I was dead. True story. Imagine your mom saying that to a nurse in a room full of people. I have had no one, ever. Basically, since her brother has passed, she hasn’t been right. I love her to death. I mean its my moms. But growing up with that, and that’s not even everything, just the stuff that stands out at this time. Some years later, while I was sleep, my mother doused me with lighter fluid, and was throwing matches at me. At that time I was grown or close to grown. I decided to leave. I still hope to get my old mom back. I miss that one. I shed a lot of tears in writing this. It has been a long time coming. A friend of mine I chat with on yahoo from time to time was the first person I told most of this stuff too. She said maybe I shouldn’t put it on the blog. But writing is my way of releasing, and I have had to let this go.

The bottom line is this. If I couldn’t depend on unconditional love from the two people that I needed it from the most. Then why do I have to subscribe to people that don’t mean what they say? Why should I surround myself with people who are only using you as an option, instead of the solution. I have a distrust of people so deep that it will take years for me to ever get past it. My need for revenge is so deep that I cannot breathe when I think of it. But the bottom line is this. If you don’t want to fuck with me. Fine. If you want to talk about me fine. If you want to be a phony with me, fine. If you want to shit on me, fine. You aren’t doing anything that hasn’t been done. I’m good, and I still love who the fuck I am.