It’s always a bitch when someone, who is a friend, bitch slaps you with the truth. I’ve recently had a friend who has done that and within just two sentences, I fled from the computer. It was a painful but at the same time it was enlightening to see how my friends see me.
For the most part, it’s all been the same.
They all see through the outgoing, try to shock you where you stand personality and see me for who I really am. And it’s these friends who are actually the ones who mean more to me than the superficial ones who claim to be my friends. People who aren’t afraid to see me cry, whether it’s in person or on a camera.
Many people know that I crave attention like a fish craves water. I like people staring at me because my hair is bright shocking pink. I like hearing them whisper, even if I get a sense of the dreads that it might be negative. I like attention. But I don’t know completely why; because at the same time I hate the stares and the whispers.
It could have something to do with my fetish of being exposed, then again it could just because I have some psychological issue that need to be addressed and I’m not ready to face them. Surprisingly enough, or not so surprisingly, it might just be both of these. Sure I am an odd one, anyone in my family will tell you that. They would easily tell you I will speak my mind and do what I want because that is how I have been since I was a child.
Mom and dad both raised me to march to the beat of my own drum. So I do and with a flair. So I don’t know why it always comes as a shock when people tell me that my crazy hair color, dressing in a way that makes me feel sexy or beautiful. Those of you have read previous my previous Zodi Files know that I am hardly the most confident person in the world. I feel like I have to act confident so that people will try to take advantage of a push over like me.
Okay so I’m not the biggest push over, but I’m easily overwhelmed into doing something.
So I do things to grab attention. My most recent endeavor was dying my hair my favorite shade of pink. Manic Panic Hot Hot Pink. It got the attention I wanted and so much more. Earlier this evening I was told that a close friend’s wife knew that I suffered from more than just seasonal depression and that what I do its just an act to get attention. This hit me in the face like a wrecking ball. I was shocked that she saw through my masks.
I was never completely close with my friend’s wife. She’s always been kinda shy to me, and it’s only very recently that I’ve gotten close to her, more close to her and her husband than I have been in the seven years that I’ve known them. I love them like they are my family, hell, they practically. So it hurt even more hearing the truth, again.
When my friend told me that this is what his wife thought, I was terrified, scared, shocked and wanting to flee. But I tried to keep it together. Blinking back the tears, but it didn’t help. When I thought I had it together enough to tell him verbally that it was all true, all I could do was hold up a finger and flee to go cry in the kitchen.
A few moments later, I returned and my friend asked me if I wanted to know what else his wife thought. Of course I thought I was ready for it, but oh man I totally wasn’t. She thought I was addicted to sex. My friend countered that in my defense and quickly said that it was my way of feeling loved. Again the truth. Ugly as ever right in my face.
However this is where it was a yes it’s my way of feeling loved and no it’s something more than just a psychological reason. I love my husband with all my heart and willingly give myself to him because he enjoys my body and I enjoy his. Yep, I enjoy sex. I like flavoring it up and I’m not overly bashful about what I do. So what if I enjoy it rough, or a little kinky.
Sure my interests are a little weird compared to most, but that is what makes sex enjoyable for me. I like light BDSM. But it isn’t always like that. I don’t always want the kinky flavorful stuff. Sometimes I just want gentle, romantic love making and my husband gives that to me whenever I want.
I know I have an odd sexual appeal that makes people cringe at times but I don’t tell them oh my god you gotta do it this way it’s so much fun. No, that isn’t me. My flavors don’t often appeal to everyone. I don’t push my sex life on to others. I do make suggestions to help open people and I try to make it subtle, but lets face it; I’m a bull in a china shop when it comes subtle. When I make a suggestion it’s often to help a lacking sex life and try and two people who are madly in love with each other to open up and explore that sex isn’t just missionary position.
One of the ways that I used to entertain myself sexually was with my webcam. I had a whole array of people who used to log on every night to see me. Okay well a much more thinner version of me but still it was me. And again this links back to the attention. Sex sells people what better way to get attention then to show your boobies to some perverts on the internet. Was it dangerous? Hell yes. Would I do it again? Absolutely. I did private shows, I did couples. I even watched a couple or two. However that was in my past and I don’t do cam shows anymore is because I am a mother and I have gained a little more respect for myself.
So yeah sex is a way I feel better about myself because I am with the one I love and it makes me feel loved. I don’t crave it, or have to have it every day every hour every second. I’m almost certain parts of me would begin to protest. However there are times I am insatiable. It’s far and few between.
Now to link the two together though I’m sure I don’t need to since I’m fairly certain that it’s obvious. The need to feel loved and wanted is extreme, I want attention and for the most part will or would do anything to get that.
According to wikipedia being bisexual means that there is a physical or sexual attraction to both sexes. This is very true. I like both men and woman. I have a preference for men, but still desire women at the same time.
Coming to terms with this and understand who I am wasn’t something I just decided to do when I was in high school. It goes way back to before I even knew what bisexual, or homosexual meant. I knew growing up that I was attracted to the female and male body. There was always something about it that made me want to explore more. I remember being little and one of my friends coming over and we would pretend we were strippers, or we played doctor. It’s human nature to be curious and want to see what is different between two peoples bodies.
My first girlfriend was Rachel. Granted we were thirteen, and nothing more than hold hands or the light kiss here and there. We were exclusive to each other. It was hard outside of school for us to see each other and of course back then people weren’t really keen on the LGB lifestyles as they are now. Two girls being with each other, well that was almost unheard of in middle school. So Rachel and I drifted apart.
I first told my mother I was bisexual when I was fourteen. She didn’t believe me. I still don’t think she does. But that’s probably my fault since I didn’t really bring my girlfriends home with me as anything more than girlfriends to hang out with. My mom met most of my girlfriends, but she assumed we were just close friends. At least that’s what I think.
The second girl I fell in love with, I am still in love with until this day. But her life choices have affected our friendship and we are no longer on speaking terms. She was my first “lesbian experience.” We were both scared. I’d like to think that she enjoyed herself as much I enjoyed being with her in such an intimate experience. She and I were on again off again over several years.
I had a few boyfriends, I can count on one hand how many of them lasted more than 2 weeks. The one that left me scorn the most was when I was dating a guy, told him I was bi, and introduced to him to my girlfriend. It was two short months after that that they both left me, for each other.
I made the decision that I wasn’t going to be bisexual anymore and I was only going to date guys. I was lying to myself and I knew it, but I didn’t want to be hurt the way the BF/GF relationship had hurt me. However, even though I swore I was only going to date guys, is when another girl waltzed into my life and left me breathless.
I wanted her in the worse way, and as it turned out I was technically single since my relationship was on line with a man who I eventually married and had a child with. She informed me she was bisexual and interested in me. Though, as it turned out, she was mentally unstable and single-handedly left my family life in ruins. Her father was just as unstable and had her committed for a while. It doesn’t make the experience with her any less special. It’s probably the only thing I still like her about. I won’t go into details about what she did to destroy the family life, but I will say that Jerry Springer would have had a field day.
Then I was back with female lover, by this time I was married and she just didn’t seem as into it. The feeling had changed for me as well. I loved her, but it was more of a sisterly bond so being intimate with her was just awkward. Eventually we just became good friends and now well now we just are.
These relationships never lasted more than a few months, something always seemed to get in the way. I had one person tell me “You aren’t bisexual, you are just bicurious.” I don’t believe this for the simple fact that I am attracted to both genders. I guess I just haven’t found “the one.” I will happily date a woman in place of a man and vice versa. Just never at the same time.
I told Tim a few nights ago that I thought the bisexual chapter of my life would be closed and never looked at again. This is only because it’s taking my heart a long time to repair itself from the lover I lost. Only with time will it heal, but I’m impatient, headstrong, and free spirited. I wear my heart on my sleeve and have a desire to be wanted and loved by everyone. Even though I know that it will never happen. So I put myself in places where I know people will like me and my personality.
Being bisexual isn’t a state of mind, I can’t just turn the page and forget it happened. It’s apart of who I am and I should be proud of that. But seeing what happens to Gays and Lesbians and their constant fight to just be accepted, I tend to stay in the shadows with my sexuality. There are things I just don’t want in my life. For example: “Uh hey, your bi, go hook up with that girl.” Yes I’m bi, no I’m not a toy.
I tell my boyfriends that I am bisexual, and every single one has told me “cool does that mean we get to have a threesome?” When I explain to them No, it doesn’t, that I only date one or other, they get sort of pouty and bummed about it. Does this rule a threesomes? For the most part yes, but this doesn’t mean it’s not possible in the future.
Relationships mean something to me, I don’t want or need one night stands. I also don’t want the ridicule of being bisexual. People freaked out when they discovered I practiced Wicca and called me a devil worshiper and all sorts of other names. Told me I was going to hell, and had a blast tormenting me when I told them I didn’t believe in heaven or hell. I learned real fast how to keep my mouth shut and become one of the silent children of the moon.
I could only imagine what they would have said if they discovered I was bisexual as well.
I’m still coming to terms with the fact, that yes I am bisexual and I always will be. But it’s something I want to deal with in my own way. This isn’t something I need a support group for, because frankly, some the LGB support groups out there, are scary in your faces type. I’m open, but not that open. I live in the start of the Bible belt of America, so it’s better for me to keep my mouth shut on certain things. Especially since my boyfriend’s father, grandfather and grandmother are all pastors. Talk about irony.
Keep it real and rockin’
The Part Time Lesbian
And then there are days where I want to post a blog two and three times a day. There are things that warrant being said, and other things that should be left in secret. Most of the times the secret things are when I need to vent about my home life.
There is no secret when it comes to what I have to deal with at home. Like a brother who is unmotivated. Simple things like cleaning up after himself. Or there is the relationship issues I have with the boyfriend and of course the stress with my child.
People tell me I should throw my brother out, however blood is thicker than water and I can’t really do that. They ask why haven’t I broken up with the boyfriend yet and I tell them that I’ve been with him for three years and my son sees him as da-da. Sure it would be ideal for me to just pack up and run away from it all and get out on my own. But I just don’t see that happening until I have a stable environment.
Truth is I’ve grown comfortable and dependent on the boyfriend and it will be difficult to make it on my own. I know that I can, and will eventually, but these things will take time. So if you notice that I am have a really rough day, offer some words of encouragement. Don’t take pity or feel sorry for me. This is my own trouble and as the saying goes, I made my bed and now I have to lay in it. As soon as the covers get rumpled enough it will come to an end.
Until that day comes I’ll just bid my time and play the game one move at a time.
Keep it real and rockin’
It’s been months since my last Zodi File. I just haven’t felt a need to write recently, but a lot has happened. I finally started to get my life on track and in order, even though it still rough, I’m getting there. Anyways, on to the Zodi file.
Recently I’ve done a lot of thinking about myself and the way I am. I realize while there is a lot traits I possess from my parents, I’m very different then the average young adult. I married young, had a child young. Both things my mother did. Though I divorced young too. I guess in a way you could say I was bored with the marriage. There are other issues with that that I do not wish to reveal but I was bored.
I have a tendency to get over thing rather quickly and I don’t think the way normal people do. When something would actually affect most average people, I probably shrug it off. It’s amusing, at least to me when people say something about what’s going on the world and ask me what I think. More times than not I don’t care. Things don’t easily affect me as they would others. At first I thought there was something wrong with me but then I realized that I’m just being me and being me doesn’t care about a lot things that don’t affect me right away.
A perfect example of this is when I was pregnant. I was excited I was pregnant but after about a month I was done. I wanted it to be over. I do not enjoy being pregnant. Do I want another child. Sure. But I would be happy to adopt just as well as give birth. I didn’t get all panicky or scared when it was time. I just knew. Perhaps it’s because my mom kept me well informed on such things or perhaps it’s my lack of interest in things. I don’t always understand me, but I know what I want.
Maybe I’m not normal, or maybe I’m just very very different. But either way people can’t really tell me what should affect me and what shouldn’t. There are people who try to tell me what I should be affected by, sometimes it works but for the most part, it doesn’t. A lot of the times they don’t understand why I can easily be bored by something or why I don’t think something is funny.
I suppose I could say that I was raised around adults, and that for most of my childhood, adult conversations were what I was around all the time. For the most part it’s true, I didn’t have a sibling until I was almost six and even then I wasn’t completely into the idea. As I grew up, I did what most girls do, and crushed heavily on male actors, listened to music and did my hair. Nina and I went through a lot of hair spray in our early teen years.
There were many things that I grew to dislike. People slowly became one of them. I was chased home and beaten up, eventually I just didn’t go outside. I couldn’t stand it. When I moved things changed and I began to alter who I was to fit in. I learned to like rock music and the goth scene, but I still felt very much outcasted. For the most part, I lost contact with those people and didn’t really care to pick it up again. At the end of my senior year, I made a point to make amends and just let sleeping dogs lay.
I realize now that if it wasn’t for the things in my past I wouldn’t be the way I am today. I’m not happy that somethings occurred, but I am grateful. It has shaped me to be me. I know that only I can change who I am, but if I’m comfortable then why should I have to change. Society isn’t going to have an impact on how I behave or why I do what I want when I want to. I’ve always been headstrong and strong willed. I don’t hesitate if I want something and usually I think about the consequences later.
Paris Hilton’s shoe collect won’t affect the what shoes I wear the next day because I know I can’t nor want to afford the contraptions that people think are sexy. Growing up I didn’t have name brand stuff. It hurt at times but now, I buy clothes that are cheap and comfortable. I understand the value of a dollar, took going food shopping with my old man to understand that. But I do have a tendency to be frivolous with my money. This gets in me to the hold sometimes and now I’m working on it to make sure I don’t end up rock bottom again.
I was married once and it was fun for a while. But I don’t want to be married, at least not any time soon. I had a child, when the labor and delivery was finally over, I was thankful, but I didn’t want to hold my child immediately. I wanted to roll over and sleep. I was happy that it was over, but I didn’t have an interest in my child until about 6 hours later when I held him for the second time. I didn’t want to put him down. Now he’s the center of my world. I do my best to give him everything he wants and more. It makes me realize that my parents went through hell and back so I could be a spoiled bitch at times. Electric, or rent was put off so that we could have a Christmas and they spent the whole year trying to catch up.
I’m thankful for that and even more thankful that my family has pulled through for me more than once. I guess it takes moving two states away to find a point of closeness with them. I thank them for everything and pray every night that everything is okay for them. It’s my parents who have made me the woman I am today. They helped to shape my beliefs and what I think is right and wrong. It baffles them at time when I do something different from the normal Zodi but they never push the issue.
Both of my parents understand that my son is mine, they also understand that what they may see isn’t acceptable I may just let him do any way for shock factor. But I know what I am doing, most times, this doesn’t stop me from asking for help, nor listening to advice from the older and wiser. Parents aren’t kidding when they say “been there done that.” At least mine aren’t.
I’m a horrible parent. Or at least I believe I am. On September 24, 2008, my son took a nose dive out the second story window. I could have prevented this. I should have prevented this. But I didn’t. I failed to protect my child from something that thankfully didn’t kill him.
He’s completely fine. Not a bump or bruise on him anywhere. No breaks or fractures. Everything is perfectly fine. The only proof that I have that it did happen and that it wasn’t a bad dream, like I felt it was, is the ER bracelet that he is still wearing. I’m going to keep that bracelet as a permanent reminder of what I could have prevented. Perhaps that is a little extreme but really I will never forgive myself for allowing that to happen to my son.
I’m blessed that I still have him, I learned what faith was real fast when I thought that I could lose my son just because of my stupidity. Some people say that I am a good mom, others seem to think that I don’t deserve to have my child. That I don’t care. I’m not like traditional parents but I’m not like hippy vegan parents either. I know what I want my son to do and not do. I know what is socially and lawfully acceptable. Maybe I do spoil him but so what. He’s my first born. He’s my sun and moon and without him I can bet I wouldn’t be here.
A lot times I say to people that my son is the reason I am alive and it’s the half truth. In all honesty, if I was set on offing myself I would do it regardless but there this little thing called guilt and how I don’t want to feel like I disappointed anyone and I surely don’t want people to cry for me. I don’t want to cause anymore ripples in the waters than I need to. But Rhys being the reason I’m still living is truth as well because of the fact I know he depends on me. I know that this smart little being that was created out of love is the reason I wake up every morning and thank God I made it through the night.
People often see me as uncaring, but I just learn to let things go. It’s simpler than dwelling on something I can’t help. I shouldn’t care what people think, yet I do.
Department of Children Services is involved with my son’s accident. A report was filed that my son had fallen out of a window and I wasn’t going to take him to the hospital. Cause you know, I’m a stupid parent. Right. I checked him to make sure everything was alright, nothing was protruding from his skin, nothing was bleeding and needed me to call 911. Once that was finished I took him inside and changed his diaper which exploded on impact. He was a mess. We then went to the hospital and sought medical attention. Another call was made and it told that we had just left.
Our case worker Jordan Roberts is a nice lady, explained everything and told me that she wasn’t at liberty to tell me who made the call. I had a general idea who made the phone call and I don’t care. I just hope they never have to go through the hardships that I am going through in dealing with DCS. I am required to have a visit from a caseworker for the next 6 months. Three of which have to be in the home. It’s crazy but such is my life. I don’t understand why people can’t just mind their own damn business and why everyone and their mother has to go through not even get the whole story. Really what the fuck. Do they not understand the whole story?
Maybe I brought this on myself, perhaps I was asking for the attention of the courts. But do I really think that. No. I just think that people don’t know the whole story and that if they were in my shoes for a day they would actually understand that day to day I am struggling to make the best of what shitty hand I have been dealt. I don’t get why things are hard for me. But I have to make due with what I have.
My son loves me and if they were to take him from me, it would probably require me needing psychological care to the point of being highly medicated. I can’t lose my son, which is why I am going to fight to keep him to make sure that I don’t get DCS any reason to take him from my home. Or even make him a ward of the state that has been place in my home. I’m going to comply with all their wishes and see to it that my son has the best. I need my son in my life. He’s my everything.
I don’t want people to think that I am a bad mother, but I do want them to understand that I am not perfect and that I have taken precautions to protect my little boy. I hope that he doesn’t remember his falling out of the window and if he does, then I hope that he forgives me and knows that I love him with my heart and soul.
Over the next few months there will be postings called the Zodi Files. These will be things that are bothering me in my life. They are not grammatically correct or even worded properly. I don’t really care. My friend asked me to write about myself and things that have been building up in me through out my life.
Some of the things in here will probably offend some people, and you may discover things about me that you never knew about me. There will be family and friends I mention in here, I do not want you to take offense to anything I may say about you in any of these things. Jay this goes double for you. I’m going to ask that if you have questions you message them to me. Do not post any comments on these as they will be deleted. Kudos are fine.
This is all just a way for me to heal myself mentally. It will help me get over things that are really bothering me in my past. So here we go.
I was asked to write an essay about myself, but I don’t know where to begin. Just thinking about having to do it and have it make sense seems like a chore but one that I’m willing to do. When I start writing things usually just come to kinda like a dam is broken open and I just go with the flow of things writing whatever comes to mind and then sorting out later. So hopefully that will take effect once I start things off. I’m not exactly sure why my friend wants an essay about myself, or I am and I’m just not willing to openly admit that it’s going to help me. So here I go.
My name is Patricia, I’m soon to be twenty-three and I live in a shell. No I’m not a turtle, I’m just introverted. Everything about the world outside my computer scares me. However it doesn’t scare me enough to incapacitate me and keep me from going outside. I wake up each morning and my first thoughts are why does he have to scream like to get me up. The he being my one year old son. The joy of my life, I would do anything for that little boy. He’s my reason for breathing. I used to tell my friends and family that if I didn’t have my son, I would probably be dead. This isn’t really true but there are times in my life where I just felt that suicide was always looking better and better with each passing day. I’m grateful I have my son, he’s saved my life more than once just by forcing me to think what his life would be like if he didn’t have me in.
A long time ago before my son came into my life my mother asked me why I wanted a baby so badly. I told her I wanted someone who didn’t know me and wouldn’t judge me to love me for me. Mom was not happy about this response, she had always thought she and my father had given unconditional love. They did except it wasn’t expressed openly a lot in my family. Love was never withheld from my brother and I, we knew it was there but it was at times something we feared would be taken away if we did something wrong.
I remember being little and for the first time not kissing my mom and dad goodnight. I just said good night and went to bed. This wasn’t really anything traumatic to me as it was more of a way to express my independence. I was a big girl and didn’t need mommy and daddy to tuck me in. Now I wish I could turn back the hands of time and give that kiss and be tucked away in to my world of safety. My mom and dad were and are always there for me… that’s a lie. They are there for me when it’s convienent for them. I don’t mind this, it keeps them from meddling in my life and telling me what needs to change about who I am. What they seem to forget is they made me the way I am. I grew up watching the financial struggles and seeing the destruction it left. I was 21 when my parents separated and started to file for divorce. That hit me really hard. I hated my mother for being sneaky, I hated my father for keeping secrets about our financial problems from everyone thinking he could fix it all himself and give my family everything they wanted. Christmas time is a perfect example, mom and dad would make sure all the bills were paid in full before Christmas, then they would get presents for everyone, including the dogs. Mom usually asked for the most expensive stuff, like a printer dock for her camera, or her mothers ring. I stopped making a Christmas list when I discovered Santa wasn’t real any more. So my parents would just ask me what I wanted. I’d tell them gift cards. This was unacceptable so they forced me to write down some things so they had some idea of what I wanted. My brother’s list were usually pages long. Needless to say we usually got everything we wanted and then some. January rolled around and the problems would start all over again, electric got shut off in the winter time, thank god we had a fire place that worked. Then the foreclosure papers were starting to come in. We could always tell when dad got a new one in, dinner would tense. Finally we lost the house.
Mom disappeared for a weekend. She went to my uncles house and stayed there. She didn’t call or tell anyone she just didn’t come home from work. We knew what time she was supposed to be home and we would plan dinner around her schedule. We called her and she didn’t answer. I don’t know what was going through her mind, but I was thinking she’s in a dead area and stuck in traffic or worse. She was in an accident. Finally that night I called her in near hysterics and proceeded to freak out on her voice mail. I wanted me to make her suffer, in my mind she had abandoned my brother and I. Not to mention she left a letter to my father… who slept alone that night. I never seen a man look older in a matter of minutes then when I watch my dad go to bed that night.
When all these problems started I was married and we decided to go to Wales. March 17th we took an eight hour plane flight overseas. That was uncomfortable and noisy but the movies were good. I thought things would be different over in Wales, and I wasn’t disappointed. I seen and learned so much but then things got bad. I became Cinderella to my in laws. This was tough, they expected me to clean and cook and make sure tea was made by the time they came home from work. I couldn’t stand cleaning and the food over there is gross. I was appalled by their treatment of me. I wasn’t allowed to work while I was over there, I wasn’t a citizen, instead they wanted me to be their slave. This cause many problems between my ex and his family. I decided after I found out I was pregnant that I wanted to go home, I already had a plane ticket and I was either going by myself or with my husband, either way I was going home. I bonded with my family and got closer to them, I forgave my mother, and father and even helped them both out. When I came home again I didn’t realize how bad things had gotten for my dad. Here we were losing our house my dad was still living there, it had gotten so bad the water been shut off, and the smell was horrible, the grass wasn’t cut, my father just stopped caring. The house was a wreck and he even told me that he tried to clean up. While we were driving home from the airport he told me Stefanie had moved in. I vowed to have her out in 3 days or less. I hated her with a blinding passion.
She was a sneaky person, when I first met her I was in love with her and we dated off and on, she was my age. Then she was sent away and I couldn’t have been happier, sure I was mad at her for fucking up but I still happier because things calmed down. When she got out she weedled her way back into my life and proceeded to fuck it up again. She told me she loved me and we were on again off again, once my husband came into my life I seen what I had feared the most, she was going to try and take him from. She nearly succeeded, after a night of fun between her, myself and my ex, she slept with him. I should have left him told him I wanted nothing to do with him and moved on. The only reasons I had my suspicions were because she had done this to me before. I knew my ex’s password to his email and I was being… sneaky and read them, I came across ones from her and was pissed about what happened. He had to return home because his visa had expired and he would be coming back shortly after that. I confronted him about it over the phone and through tears and screaming we sorted it out. He wasn’t my husband then, just my fiancée. When I came home from Wales I found out she was living with my father, and to make matters worse they were dating. It took me telling her to wake her son up so that he could eat and play to get her to get out of my house. My father said to me “doesn’t my happiness matter to you” I remember countering with, “when it comes to her being your life, no, and she isn’t welcomed anywhere I live.” I decided I couldn’t live with my father with the house the way it was. So I stayed at mom’s place until we got the apartment. We moved in the end of June. My husband and I were expecting a child together so we were looking for a place of our own. People wouldn’t hire me because of my “preexisting” condition so my husband worked, and worked his ass off. About this time I was feeling like caged bird. I suppressed the feeling and carried on.
As time went on my stomach got bigger and bigger, I felt wonderful but was completely bored with being pregnant. I watched a commercial and just started to bawl my eyes out. I felt fat and disgusting you know the typical pregnancy things. I cleaned the house like crazy, then we found out that we were going to be able to move downstairs into the basement apartment. Yay!! My own place. Mom and I cleaned and cleaned and made it perfect for me to bring my baby home. It had one problem. BUGS! I had grew up with them and Philadelphia and wasn’t about to go through that again. So we bought stuff to fumigate the place and with winter coming things would be ok. Not. We lived in the corner house conversion apartment, near the sewer. Water bugs, big fucking black things. I couldn’t walk around my house without sneakers or slippers on. My husband would get up at 4 in the morning to get to work. Often this would wake me up, I was never a heavy sleeper in the first place. One morning I woke up and got something to drink then went back to bed, ten minutes later I flew out of bed and freaked out because there was a bug in my bed. This sent me upstairs to my dad apartment where I slept on his couch until he woke up and asked what happened. This happened several times. Before my son was born.
November came and that meant the new harry potter movie was coming out. On the 18th I made sure my brother and I had tickets to go see the movie opening night, and he and I went to see it. Twenty minutes into the movie I started to have unbearable cramps I didn’t understand what was happening, I hadn’t my baby moving at all that day so I was sort of worried. However, my brother and I were having fun watching the movie together. I excused myself because I had to pee quite badly, when I came back I told my brother that I thought I was having contractions, he was worried, and asked me if we had to leave, I told him no that I would be alright and not to worry about me. I stayed for the whole movie, all three hours. When it was over I called my mom by now the contractions were coming 5 minute a part for an hour. She came to get me and I went to the service desk and told them I had an emergency, that I was in labor and needed a place to sit. The girl at the counter sent a message out over her walkie and soon I had the manager, an usher and a nurse who had gotten out of line to see her viewing of harry potter to sit with me. They helped me to a bench and the nurse held my hand and helped me with breathing technicques until my mom showed up. The manager left and came back with two free movie tickets for me to come back and see the movie anytime I wanted. I was happy to accept them and thanked them for being quick about handling the situation.
I was taken home to gather some things and get my husband. He was dazed and kept asking me if I was sure I was in labor. I kept telling him yes and gathering my stuff, he was completely useless as most men are when it comes to their woman being in labor. We made our way to hospital and the contractions were getting worse and worse, I prayed that I wouldn’t give birth to my child in a brand new caddy with white leather seats. That is all I worried about the whole way there. Once in the hospital I was taken up to the maternity ward. They measured and poked around and seen that I was indeed ready to give birth. I was nasty by this time, I wanted drugs and wasn’t thinking coherently the nurse was completely useless to me, and messed up getting my fluids started three time, before she called another nurse who got it in one shot. Soon the drug man came and I couldn’t have been happier than a pig in shit. I got my epidural and soon everything seemed wonderful again. Things were going alright, I slept for a little bit, and then it was time to push. Two hours and seven minutes of pushing and my little darling boy was born at 5:17am, six pounds five ounces, nineteen inches long, he was perfect, ten fingers ten toes, two eyes everything was in order. Except, he was the wrong gender. I wanted a girl, I wanted a girl in the worse way. My whole motto when I was pregnant with him was “think pink” but he was boy. When I first seen him I wanted nothing to do with him. I wanted to sleep. I held him for a moment, my husband was crying tears of happiness, I just wanted to sleep. So they took him to the nursery for his tests and I passed out. I knew that I didn’t want to be one of those mother who was going to milk the hospital for all it was worth, I wanted out, boredom had set in and people had gone home leaving me to own devices. I held my baby, changed him, fed him, and he slept, he didn’t seem to like being swaddles so I just held him close to me and kept the blanket over both of us. Visitors came to see the new addition and the new mommy but I’m sure the baby was more interesting.
This is where I will end it for now. I’ll write more later when I feel like it. But for now I’m done.
Recently I’ve felt disgusted with myself. I’m not pretty enough, thin enough, my skin is bad. I know I’m not a super model. I’m too short. When I was in third grade people started to tease me, they started to call me stinky. I didn’t understand why, I bathed every day, so it didn’t make sense to me. It got so bad that I started to carry around one of those cheap imitations of the designer fragrances and even that only seemed to make the name calling worse. This is what most adults call the awkward stages of life. I call it the start of my introversion.
By fourth grade everyone in my year was calling me stinky, even kids I didn’t know. Everyone that is except for two people. My best friend Nina, and this girl Kristen. Nina was in the special classes so I didn’t get to see her too often during school, and we had done something over the summer that forced our parents to tell us we weren’t allowed to play with each other any more. I’ll go more into this eventually.
Kristen was vivid and bubbly, she was so amazing, I loved her very much. Her and I grew closer, and started spending more and more time together. At recess she would always pick the same color section as I did. Blue was for the ball section, Red for jump ropes, Green for games like hopscotch and tether ball, and yellow was the quiet section. I always chose yellow, recess was the only time I could get away from classmates who enjoyed teasing me.
They picked on Kristen too but she just had a flare about shrugging off. I remember one day a group of kids came to mess with me in quiet section, they were yelling “hey stinky,” or “yo stinko” I did my best to ignore them but Kirsten just turned and looked at them with such fire in her eyes and countered with, something witty like sniffing me then saying “Patty you smell better them, you weren’t running around and getting sweaty like they were.” They would be annoyed of course and leave again, Kristen and I would return to our game of checkers. Then my world became dark again.
Kristen and I spent the summer together, every day we were playing dress up or dolls or checkers. One day I called Kristen’s house and no one answered, the day before she and I had made plans to go to the play ground and swing. I tried all day long to call her and see if she wanted to come out. That night Kirsten would leave my life forever. Kristen’s mom knew that I had been calling all day, and that night she had called to speak with my mom and dad. I was taking a bath and getting ready for bed. When I got out of the tub, my mom and dad called me down stairs and sat me down.
The news they told me broke me. I had lost Kirsten because of Kirsten’s step father. Kristen and her sister Jenna were removed from their home. My mother and father told me that he had molested Kristen and her sister and that children services had them removed from the home. Kristen called me that night to talk to me, she even apologized for not being there to go to the park. That was the last time I spoke to her. I asked her where she was, what her phone number was, when I was going to see her next. She couldn’t give me anything.
My mother and father had told me she and Jenna were moved to Levitttown. I knew that was far away and that I would probably never see her again, but there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t have something that reminds me of the time she and I had together. I loved her a lot, and every so often I’ll search the internet and the phone books hoping that just maybe I’ll come across her name. I don’t know what I would say to her today. Probably something stupid like “hey wanna go to the playground and swing?”
Two months later school started again, and so did the names. I didn’t have a friend to protect me. The teachers were blind to the torment I endured. I was in 5th grade now and things just weren’t the same without Kristen. That was also the year Nina and I started talking again and reforming our broken relationship. Before too long we were allowed to play together again, in short notice we had made up for the time we had lost.
However, Nina didn’t protect me from the names. Come to think of it, she didn’t really protect me from a lot of things. I only lived two block away from school so getting home was easy. 5th grade came and went uneventfully other than I graduated and advanced to the 6th grade. I was in middle school now. There would be new people and new faces. However the dark cloud loomed over me. Nina and I walked to school together everyday. I would be up at seven, and at her house by seven-thirty to watch Full House with her before we hurried to school.
The night before the first day of sixth grade was the most pivotal night in my life. This was the night I became a young lady and was no longer a little girl. I had gotten my first period. RIGHT BEFORE SCHOOL! Ugh. I was in the bathroom preparing for bed, going to the bathroom and I wiped. Blood… Of course I knew about the bird and the bees, I had known for a couple of years about sex and the male and female bodies, how they work etc… but experiencing it for the first time on my own and all logical thinking went out the window. I screamed for my mom. Mom had been hearing me call her all day, mom this mom that, and dad answered.
Well this wasn’t exactly something that you could tell a father without blushing at the tender age of eleven. I told daddy that I needed mom and that it was an emergency. So mom came up and asked what was wrong. I told her I was bleeding from my private area, and all she could do was laugh and hug me. Talk about confusion there. Anyway mom gave me the stuff I needed and explained to me that this was normal. I thought she was lying, because it’s not normal for anybody to bleed without being cut. Mom assured me this was normal and that it would be okay.
Then she went down and told my dad what was going on, he got up went to the store and bought seven different kinds of sanitary napkins. Seven, not just one or two but SEVEN. This was coming from a man who doesn’t buy these things unless he’s food shopping and it can go in with the rest of the stuff he’s buying. Mom lit up the phone lines calling every female relative we had contact with. Grams, nan, Aunt Dee and Tracy. Several others as well. Everyone wanted to congratulate me. I was not thrilled, or happy, or even excited a little bit to have this done to me. I didn’t ask to bleed randomly, nor did I ask my mom to tell everyone in my family. This was humiliation at it’s best.
The next day I started school. I was armed with my school books and backpack, pencils, pens, paper, everything you needed for the first day of school. Except I had more. I had pads in the depths of my bag. Ew. I told Nina that I had gotten my period. She didn’t really seem to care. We went through the day, got our class assignments and went to class to get to know our teachers. I had a really pretty teacher name Mrs. Bowser. She greeted the class and explained her rules. It would have been a good year, had I been the only student in class.
Teachers are supposed to be there for kids right? Wrong. She was just like the other teachers, just as blind to the torment people were putting me through. This year my name had evolved from stinky or stinko to Fish. Again I bathed everyday, I made sure that took a shower in the morning before school and my hair was wet went I got to school so they could see that I did take a shower. I made sure that my girl parts were extra clean and didn’t smell funny. This was all in vain. No matter how many different times I tried a new hair style, or got new clothes they always found something to tease me on. My sneakers were their favorite thing to tease me about. My family couldn’t afford name brand shoes, so I was stuck with K-mart brand knock offs. No matter how much I cried and begged my parents to give me a pair of name brand shoes they never did. Dad’s excuse was they were too expensive and he wasn’t about to pay for a pair of shoes that I’m just gonna get dirty anyway. My cousin Katie gave me a pair of reebok sneakers. I was never more happy in my entire life. A pair of name brand sneakers that I could wear to school and finally fit in. WRONG! They still teased me about them, told me I had the logo sewn on them. They called them “freeboks” This tore me apart, no matter how hard I tired these kids just wouldn’t accept me for me. So eventually I just stopped trying. I stopped talking, and caring. This only gave them more fuel to go with. It also made me the easiest target for bullies.
By January of 1996, I was chased home almost everyday, most days the bullies didn’t catch me, but on the days they did, I paid for it dearly. Both my parents told me to stand up to them or keep running. I used to know 30 different way to get home. Nina was always there to walk home with me, but if they caught up with me, she just kept walking instead of helping me stand up to them. I don’t think I’ve ever forgiven her for that. She was supposed to be my best friend and she couldn’t even help defend me when four girls pinned me down while a fifth one beat the shit out of me. Yeah we were real friends or so I thought.
I remember one time walking through the school yard to get to the main road so I could go home, and these bullies came behind me and pushed me into the mud. Everything got dirty. Thankfully my teacher had stayed late and seen what happened. She yelled out her car window for them to leave me alone and then drove me home the rest of the way. She had me sit on a towel so I didn’t get her seats dirty or bloody. I had a bloody nose, and a black eye and crying my heart out. She asked me why I allowed this to happen to me and I told her “I don’t know how to fight back.” She asked how long this was going on for, and told her. By the time I got home my mom and dad were waiting for me. They seen my teacher drop me off and bring me into the house. She told them what was going on and what happened. This did nothing to help the bully problem, in fact it only made it worse the next time they caught me.
I went home from school taking a longer route than before. I remember Nina and I were talking about the differences between a virgin Mary and bloody Mary She actually went into a bar and asked. Sure enough those bullies caught up and kicked me down, four held me down while one beat me up. They scratched me, dragged my face into the sidewalk, pulled my hair and dumped tapioca pudding in my hair. I haven’t been able to touch that type of pudding since. One of the ladies in the bar that we had asked about the virgin/bloody Mary seen what was happening and chased the girls off of me. This time I two black eyes and pudding in my hair. She took me inside and helped me get most of the pudding out my hair then she walked me to the bus station and gave me a token to get on the bus. I never got a chance to thank her. Two days later she was killed in a drive by shooting. I spent two days at home recovering from the ass beating I had gotten. By this time I was terrified of going to school. I knew that if this kept up I was going to end up dead.