Hi friends.

I’m working on a new novel right now that’s going to be about witchcraft. There are too many vampire stories out there right now so I want to get one out with witchcraft in it. My only issue is I’m not sure if I should use the 4 elements of witchcraft, or the 5 elements of Wiccan, which many people believe is witchcraft.

They both have Fire, Earth, Air, and Water, but the fifth element for Wicca is spirit.

What would be more interesting as a reader?

Any opinions and input you can give me will be invaluable. Thank you all 🙂


Disappeared – Chapter 7

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Sam's Inner Workings

He returns to the living room, his hand back on his chin trying to rub out the tension. He sits on a love seat against the wall connected to the kitchen and stares at the floor. Is that guilt on his face? It’s mixed with worry, but I can see a lot of guilt clouding his expression, too. What does he have to feel guilty about? He couldn’t have known that someone was going to break into the house tonight; it was a random act of violence, right? No, he would never leave me home alone if the thought I was going to be in any danger like this; he probably has normal parent guilt for his child getting hurt while he was out doing something else. Maybe he knows who my attacker might be and that’s why he feels guilty…but how could he know? I think it’s time to…

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Memory Slip

I’ve gotten into this really bad habit lately. As I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, I take medication every day for my depression and anxiety. I sometimes have difficulty remembering to take my medication so I have an alarm set to remind me to take it every day. The problem is, later in the day I tend to forget whether I have taken my medication or not…

My alarm just went off so I can document the fact I took my medication today in case later on I wonder whether I forgot. Yesterday I thought I took it…I remember my alarm going of and thinking “it’s time to take my medication!” but I can’t – for the life of me – remember if I did or not. I don’t want to depend on documenting when I take my medication though. I feel like that’s degrading and an insult to my intelligence so I can’t seem to “lower” myself down to that level.

Probably a pride thing, but I don’t know. I have a feeling it’s partially a Dissociative Identity Disorder thing, too. I’ve been stressed lately and a lot is going on, not all bad, so I’m sure the stress is triggering some smaller episodes that I don’t notice.

Anyone else have this issue? It’s not a memory thing because I have a pretty good memory. I can remember to walk every day and count my calories every day, but I can’t remember to take my medication without an alarm set. It’s so frustrating not being able to remember whether I’ve taken it or not.

New-found Revelation

It’s come to my attention lately that I have a really unusual phobia. Maybe other people have this problem, too, but I’ve never heard of anyone having such a disdain for this. I know that most people find them gross, but I realized this morning a whole new level of disgust I never even knew I had.

Boogers are gross in general. I know that most people think they are gross and stay away from them, but I’ve been told many times by my boyfriend that I have an irrational disgust for them. How would I know, though? It’s normal to me so I have to take his word for it. Good thing I trust him!

Thinking and talking about boogers just makes me cringe and gag. My gag reflexes are not very sensitive so for something to make me gag…it has to bug me. I can’t stand seeing anyone pick their nose and my boyfriend likes to do it sometimes. Even if I see a booger inside someone’s nostril, I will have a hard time not gagging and I have to avoid looking at it because it’ll bug me until I know it’s gone. Except, when I tell him he has a booger hanging out of his nose, he’ll get it out and then pretend to wipe it on me.

He thinks it’s hilarious but whenever he does it I jump as far back as I can. We’re usually in the car when he does this so I can’t go far, but I bet it’s hilarious seeing me plastered against the door when he reaches his hand out to make the booger touch me, or when he pretends to wipe it on me. I have a panic attack every single time because I DO NOT want them on me at all. Or near me. Eww….

The new-found level of disgust, though? That was discovered this morning in the shower. I don’t like blowing my nose so if I can simply sniff and make it go away I will. However, once in a while if I don’t sniff right, the booger will get caught in the back of my mouth or on my tongue and I have to spit it out and then have a mini breakdown for at least 5 minutes because I HAD A BOOGER IN MY MOUTH.

Well, this morning I was in the shower and this happened to me. Instead of just spitting it out and freaking out for a few minutes, I spit it out and then vomited. I’ve never puked because of how disgusted I was by something. Not only that, I puked twice. I had to not think about it to get myself to stop dry heaving. That was so weird for me, I’m still not sure how to process it. Talking about it now makes me have to concentrate on not feeling sick about it.

Now that my rant is over I feel like I can at least let it go. I can move on with my day…what grosses you out?

Boys are ignorant…

I just want to point out that some boys are completely uninformed. I was talking with my boyfriend one day about my past and how I have been raped. I still hate saying, seeing, or anything to do with that word, but I’m doing my best to get used to it. Survivor, not a victim, right? I’m trying.

Any who, my boyfriend and I had gotten into an argument and of course he knows which buttons to push to piss me off. One day he decided to say there is no such thing as rape since women only get ‘wet’ when they are enjoying sex and the touching involved.

Thankfully, I have a smart man and he doesn’t actually believe that, but it got me thinking; there really are people out there that believe this. Knowing this and realizing this just makes me hate and lose more faith in humanity. How can you be so stupid to think that just because our bodies reacting to stimulation it means we like it?

It has been proven that it is a basic human instinct. The woman being raped really doesn’t want to have sex. The body WILL react to the stimulation though, whether we want it to or not. It’s part of surviving as a species and making babies and all that. It’s a natural reaction. The ‘wetness’ isn’t just so the man can get his penis inside us easier, it’s to help the sperm survive on the way to the egg to fertilize it.

Rant over. I just can’t believe anyone actually believes that there’s no such thing as rape and that women always want sex…we are at men’s disposal whenever they want it and we will accommodate them with a willing body whenever they want…it makes me sick. Thoughts?

OCD Tendencies

I have never been the type of person to discuss my issues with other people. I’ve grown up without anyone listening to me so as an adult I learned to keep my personal life to myself. Well, it’s good in theory because then no one acn say that I complain too much. On the other hand, there are people out there dealing with the same issues as I am that may be able to help me cope better with my issues. I have several diagnosed mental illnesses; depression, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, ADHD, and Borderline Personality Disorder, but the ones that make it all worse is definitely the anxiety and OCD.

In recent years, I’ve been trying to open up to people. I became so desperate to share my story and try to heal from what I had been through that my boyfriend told me it seems like I’m telling everyone I meet just so that I can get sympathy and attention from them. Anyone that truly knows me better than that but that’s what it seems like I’m doing. I have pulled back some so that I don’t complain all the time, but I still have a couple close friends who I can talk to when I need them. That’s the important thing.

How does OCD and anxiety tie into all of this? Oh, in so many ways my friend. I don’t have a bad case of OCD, mine is very mild; you won’t even notice it until you get to know me. I have little quirks in my personality which gives it away. I can give so many examples. In the morning, after I take my shower, I wrap my towel around my body and sit on the edge of the bathtub for about a minute. If I don’t sit down for at least about 10 seconds, my whole day is thrown off kilter. It sounds crazy, but for me…well, I can start my day without it if I’m in a rush but I will not have a very good day. I also have a “getting dressed” type of ritual I follow every morning but it isn’t as strange as sitting on the edge of the bathtub.

I have several small and seemingly meaningless rituals like this. They are all so engraved in my every day behavior that I don’t recognize it unless someone points it out to me. Another example I can think of though is when I lay down a blanket on the ground or on the floor; or even just folding a blanket. Everything has to be laid out perfectly. As few wrinkles as possible and I will do my best to brush them out. If you move a corner or it is displaced I will freak out until it is put back in order. I will have a mini meltdown from it.

I know exactly how silly that sounds, but when it happens something switches in my brain and I can’t focus on anything else but the disorder being put back in order. I guess that’s why it’s called a disorder…ha!

I also cannot stand when the microwave timer is not on zero. To me, this is an example of disorder. I don’t mind if you take something out before the timer that you set is up, but come on..how hard is it to push the clear button and put it back to zero? No matter what I’m in the kitchen doing, just grabbing water or placing a dirty dish in the sink, if that timer is not at zero I HAVE to clear it. My boyfriend will purposefully leave the timer set to some random number to see it bug me. Apparently this one is cute though, since he likes to watch me freak out.

Other things are smaller quirks that are more difficult to explain. I hate popped collars; I HAVE to fix them. This includes rolled up sleeves or pants legs that aren’t even or aren’t supposed to be rolled up…I must fix them all. If one little hair is out of place after a part has been made (this is for girls only), I will obsess about it until it is fixed. I do this with my boyfriend’s daughters all the time. I will make them hold still while I adjust the one little portion of hair out of place.

If I’m counting anything at all I can’t stop at an odd number unless it is 3 or multiple of 5; every other instance my count needs to end with an even number. I’ve been made fun of for this one a bit, but I’ve tried stopping and it just feels wrong and I can’t do it. This goes for a lot of things that happen to be uneven or not symmetrical though. If I see it, I will fix it. Something similar to this is my need to end a walk down the stairs (or up) on my right foot. I prefer to start on my right foot also, but it’s not as important as ending with my right foot. If I’m going to end on my left, I will stop on the third stair from the ground, and switch feet. If I’m used to the stairs I’ll know which foot I need to start with so that won’t happen, but I’m not always right. I look like a fool stopping on the stairs to switch feet but all I can focus on IS my feet and which one is going to hit the landing first. This might be my worst one.

Cleaning is another big trigger for me. My mom used to have me clean the house all the time because my OCD wouldn’t let me do a job any less than spotless. This one I’ve been able to control though. I’m messy for a reason and my boyfriend doesn’t understand that. When I do clean, I clean well I just don’t like getting caught up in needing to have the job done perfectly for me to be able to say it’s finished. It’s very stressful. So I clean when I can’t handle the mess anymore. Organization is like this for me as well. If you give me something it will be returned in the same order in which it was given to me. Usually more neatly stacked than when it was given to me. I also have to sort through it in the order in whih it was given to me. Every time. Not one piece of paper (or whatever the case may be) can be out of place.

I have other issues as well but these are most prominent ones. Over time I’ve been able to make them less obvious and even control some, but others I’m still struggling with. I’m thankful that I have a mild case; I’m not sure how I could handle anything bigger. OCD can control your life if you aren’t careful.

Each mental disorder affects my life in very particular ways. I’ve focused on my OCD tendencies for this entry. For more of my blogs follow me here! If you want to follow my creative blog where I post my novels in progress:


Thanks for tuning in 🙂 Stay tuned for more of me and my wacky world!!!

Mind over Matter

The things that the human brain can do amazes me. I think that societies view on how much our brains can accomplish is highly underrated. I’m talking, in particular, about when it comes to mental illness. Yes, I take medication to help me cope with mine, but I’ve noticed that my depression has morphed over the years because of my change of mind not because of the medication I choose to take.

If you would like a more detailed version of what I’ve gone through as a child, here is a link to my short story that explains it a little more in depth but isn’t my autobiography:


This story has the same sort of notion I wanted to talk about here, but I wanted to go more in depth about how important Mind over Matter really is. The following post is a short story I wrote called “Mind over Matter” that was published in the Larcenist (Volumn 2, Issue 3) on June 15, 2015:

Whenever you meet someone new, there is always that ‘getting to know you’ stage where they tend to want to know about your life, or past, or your childhood. I’ve always disliked this stage in any relationship or friendship because of how difficult it is for me to discuss it. I have very few good memories of my childhood. In fact, I tend to tell people that I didn’t really have a childhood. What I was put through by my family forced me to grow up and mature faster than any child should and made it very difficult for me to connect with anyone; to this day I have this issue.

I was never beaten by any of my family members, which I am thankful for, but I was put through repeated sexual assault and abuse. There are a few instances of abuse that were not continuous and did traumatize me, but not nearly as much as the long-term situations. It made a very solitary child; growing up with these experiences and memories was not an easy feat.

My dad and older brother were the biggest culprits. Over a span of about three years, starting around the age of eight, my father would have me give him blow jobs. I cannot tell you the exact age or the exact time it started and stopped because I don’t remember. My mind has done what it could to protect me and has blocked out a lot of those memories. Experiencing it affected me enough, having memories to go along with it would have made me so much worse; I’m not sure I would have been able to survive the trauma. I do know that it happened, though. No loss of memory will ever have me doubt that. What happened was real, whether I remember or not.

My father would sit on the edge of his bed and tell me to lick ‘it’ like a popsicle. No matter how much I want to that is one thing I will never forget; nor will I forget the way he said it. I can’t tell you how often he had me do this or how long it would last, whether he would reach orgasm with me there or not, but I do know it was not a one-time offense. This small statement from him is what will always reassure me that what I experienced was real and not just some bad dream.

When I was 17 I spoke with a Child Protective Services agent and a Police officer; someone had tipped them off that there may have been abuse in the household. I did tell them what happened and they went to my father and asked him if he did it. He denied it. What surprised me is that after he was questioned, he didn’t get mad at me or accused me of telling lies to CPS or the police. We didn’t really talk about it at all. I was informed by the agent that my dad had denied the accusations. I never really thought about it until now, but that’s validation for me that something did happen and he knows it wasn’t okay, but didn’t want to get into legal trouble for it.

The government workers also spoke to my dad about my older brother. They told me they didn’t speak with him directly because they were unable to find him at work, but told my dad the information I gave them on my brother. Having everything out in the open was a really strange feeling. I was very anxious and was so scared that I was going to get in trouble for unearthing our family’s skeletons. There was never anything I can remember indicating I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, but it was always implied on an emotional/mental level. As a child, you don’t feel like you can talk to people about it because you have this innate sense that your parents and family take care of you and wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. At least, that’s how I grew up.

What my dad did is considered rape; oral sex is still sex, and is unforgivable, but as far as I’m concerned, what my older brother did to me is worse. His happenings where much more frequent and lasted for a longer period of time. From the ages of eight through 12, I was essentially his practice girlfriend. There was no penetration involved with him, but emotionally and mentally, this was more traumatizing for me.

He would have me role play with him, play strip poker, play spin the bottle, make out with him, dry hump him, let him touch me everywhere, and so many other things, I can’t remember them all. It’s so strange, how something that impacted my life so greatly is also something I have to try really hard to recall specific details about. I’m glad that my brain has tried to protect me because of how messed up this has all made me over the years, but sometimes it’s frustrating and makes me feel crazy, as if I somehow made it all up.

Whenever my parents would be at work or would go out, my older brother would babysit me and my younger brother, and something would always happen. From the little I can remember, my parents were gone a lot; he would babysit at least three times a week when we weren’t in school. Two of those days were weekends, so we were alone pretty much all day with him watching us; this doesn’t even include the summer months. We couldn’t play something as simple as hide-and-seek without him bartering sexual dispensation from me for it.

I became a recluse at the age of eight, when it all began. I didn’t talk to anyone about it and it made me very depressed. I didn’t talk a lot in school and didn’t have very many friends. Thinking back, I’m astounded that no one saw the warning signs of what happened. Of course, I moved to a different school district right before my dad and brother’s offenses began, so they may not have noticed a difference in my actions or mannerisms. To them, it was normal for me to be really withdrawn. Either way, I wonder whether there were any tell-tale signs that could have helped me in those early years so I could have been saved.

I remained a recluse until High School. I had acquaintances before then, but no one I would call a friend. There were people I associated with, and sometimes hung out with, but no one of relevance or anyone that breached the walls I had placed because of the abuse. I’m not sure if it was the people I met or becoming a young adult that knocked me from being numb, but the flood gates opened during my sophomore year of high school. Depression hit me full force; I became extremely anxious about everything and I still have this issue, and I had to deal with the usual angst of being a teenager. The result was self-mutilation, attempts of suicide, loss of people I had actually grown close to, and extremely low self-esteem and self-worth.

I made it through High School with many issues, but I did make it. I know that the year I decided to take off before going to college was because of the Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder I have because of what my family put me through. The wonderful part about this story is that even though everyone in my life thought I wasn’t going to actually go back to school after announcing I was going to take a year off, I proved them wrong. I packed up my things and I went off to college three hours away from my dad and my brother. I was free of them and the abuse they had put me through.

I did well there for a while. I was away from them and I could do and feel and say whatever I wanted and no one could make me do anything. It was great, until the depression came back. This is mostly in part to a rape and abortion I survived only a month before I had started my freshman year of college. What a way to start a new beginning. If I had not met my best friend that year, I would have been a goner for sure from all the guilt, depression, confusion, loneliness, and ostracizing I faced. Being a theatre major was not easy.

I made it through three good years of college, even after dealing with bullying and exclusion from some of my fellow classmates, with good grades and a relatively positive attitude. I still suffer from PTSD and anxiety, but I think my mind-set changed a lot from being away from my family. I was able to form some amazing lifelong bonds with people and live a little instead of being stuck in my own world and being numb. In the end, though, the depression won and I dropped out of college only 30 credits short of a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree. I’m not sad or disappointed about it though, because I know that once I get my life back together, I will finish my schooling.

Being away from my abusers gave me the chance to finally flourish and find good points in life. I can look back and find positivity in my high school years, even though I can honestly say they were not the best years of my life. I can even look back at my childhood and find memories I can hold onto and cherish. I believe that it wasn’t all bad as I first thought it to be when I reached puberty and realized that what my family had done to me was wrong, not okay, and that it was abuse.

I used to take it one day at a time. I had to, or I would end up being depressed and self-harming or wanting to commit suicide. I focused on day to day life. I didn’t make any huge plans besides making sure my homework was finished or making sure I was at performances when I was cast in a play in college or in the community. Slowly working on finding contentment in my everyday life is what has gotten me to where I am today.

Not many people like to believe it, but it really is mind over matter. I am a very emotional person, but I firmly believe that, because I was able to change my state of mind from negative and self-depreciating, I have been able to overcome the worst of my depression and PTSD. I’ve realized that I can’t even regret or hate what I’ve been through and what my family did to me because it has made me the person I am today.

I love who I am and love being the kind and caring person and friend, even if I get stepped on every once in a while. To me, it is worth it, if I’m able to help people. I’ve begun to believe that everything happens for a reason and that God, or whoever/whatever you believe in, would not put me through anything I could not handle.

I know that the abuse I suffered has made me a strong individual and allowed me to truly appreciate the good things in my life instead of always focusing on the bad. It is what has gotten me through my recent past and allowed me to find happiness in the darkest of places. I can plan out what I want for my future and look forward to it now. All because I was able to change the way I think. I just hope I can do the same for others, so fewer people have to suffer.


Waiting is one of the hardest things in the world to do. For me anyway; I’m not sure if any of you readers out there have any issues. Either way, many of us have things we are waiting for in life. Some wait for love, or school to be over, or life to start, or that next paycheck, or even life to be over. It almost seems like we spend our lives waiting rather than living. It’s a shame.

Waiting for me is difficult because of many things. I’m an impatient person mainly from the anxiety I deal with on a daily basis. Even waiting in line for something as silly as ordering fast food or waiting in my room for the doctor to come see me…I get anxious. It slowly builds the longer I have to wait for it to be my turn. As ridiculous as I know it sounds, there’s nothing I can do to stop the anxiety from coming. I can keep it from overwhelming me, but I’m always a little awkward when it’s my turn because of the built up anxiety. I become slightly socially awkward.

Having anxiety issues is always hard to explain to anyone who doesn’t have the problem. I’ve been told on several occasions to just calm down or chill out, there’s no reason to be nervous or anxious. Most of the time I realize that there is no logical reason for me to be feeling the way that I do, but that doesn’t make it go away or change the fact that I am. That’s what society doesn’t understand. Wanting to not be anxious and knowing that I shouldn’t be doesn’t mean it’s going to magically disappear. If only.

I take 40mg of Citalopram (otherwise known as Celexa) every day to help me cope with my anxiety. This is just so I can function normally every day. If I didn’t take it, I would be too anxious to even talk to people at work or when I go to a grocery store. This is to help me COPE. This isn’t something that can cure anxiety issues or even make it go away. I still have these issues just in smaller doses. I can wait in line without having a panic attack. I also have Vistaril in case I do have a panic attack.

It just amazes me what some people have to go through just to be able to function normally on a daily basis. I hated being anxious all the time because I couldn’t live my life. I’m lucky that I don’t take more medication with my other mental illness I have. I’ve been able to adjust well enough so that I don’t need medication for right now. Who knows what the future will bring.

I just wish that those who are lucky enough to not need any sort of medication would be a bit more open minded and accepting of those of us who do need it. I also wish that some people wouldn’t take advantage of medication. I know some people who say that they have depression when in all reality they have no idea what it’s like to be truly depressed.

I’m just glad that waiting is as bad as it used to be for me. I don’t mind standing in line and waiting for something now. Yeah I still get a bit jittery, but I can talk to someone without making a complete fool of myself. I don’t have to wait to live my life anymore or wait until I can get out and meet people. I don’t have anything holding me back anymore. I wonder how many others out there face the same problems as I do and think about it. Maybe not as often as I do, but it’s still nice to know I’m not alone in my ponderings.

What are you waiting for? What are you willing to do so that your waiting stops?

Happy Late Mother’s Day

Happy Mother’s Day to all mother’s who read my blog. Thank you for your support, you are wonderful people. I’m sorry for the lateness of my well-wishes, but my Sunday’s usually don’t include blogging and it don’t go very well for me.

This holiday is not a very happy one for me. If you’ve read my previous blog entry, “Happy Birthday Mommy”, you know that I haven’t had a good relationship with my mother and I don’t really have a good relationship with my boyfriend’s mother either. So I don’t have a mother figure in my life unless you count my dad. Mr. Mom. I’ve sent him a mother’s day card before but decided not to this year.

However, my boyfriend has 3 children which I have been helping to raise and take care of the past 3 and a half years. Finally, this year the kids said Happy Mother’s Day to me without having to be asked or told to do so which was very heartwarming for me. I wish that could have kept my day from being complete shit.

The day started off fine. I was woken up at about noon to go to a campground about 20 minutes away so we could go swimming. The fight that we had on the way there…I’m not gonna point fingers because it takes two people to fight, it doesn’t matter who started it. It got so bad though, that he got so mad as to tell me he didn’t love me and kicked me out of the van.

Yep. He kicked me out of the van at the top of an on ramp for the highway. He drove to the bottom of the ramp and waited for me to get to him. He told me to get in but being the stubborn person I said “I’m not going to deal with you treating me like that.” and he said okay and sped off. My cell phone was dead before we left so it was at home. I was left alone on the highway to walk home.

I walked two miles before he came back for me. This time he apologized but I had a feeling he was only saying that to get me back in the van.

We still ended up going swimming after that. It was nice; the cold water soothed the headache I had from crying. He didn’t go in the water so it was just the kids and me. I taught them how to float and the four of us had a great time. Then we went home…

The first thing I did when I got in the house was go upstairs, grab my computer, and bring it downstairs. I wasn’t going to spend time with a man who I didn’t believe was sorry for treating me badly (and that was just for the fight, it didn’t include leaving me on the side of the highway) and said he didn’t love me.

The next three hours consisted of him messaging me on facebook and asking if we were breaking up. There was more to it, but that was essentially what was going on. I told him that if things didn’t change and he didn’t start treating me better then yes, I was going to have to leave even though I didn’t want to. After a lot of crying and feeling like crap since it seemed like he didn’t care if I left, he said he would try.

He would try to treat me better, he was sorry that he left me on the side of the highway and he shouldn’t have (apparently he didn’t even know I had left my dead cell phone at home), and he did love me and I should have known he was just saying he didn’t love me because he was mad. I told him that shit had to stop, too. He didn’t really say anything so I’m hoping that got into his head because I strongly believe you should never tell someone you love you don’t love them just because you are mad. If you love someone, don’t push them down by saying you don’t.

That was my weekend. I hope that everyone else had a much better Mother’s Day than I had. Let’s hope my future is better than what my past has been.

Happy Birthday Mommy

Today is not only Cinco De Mayo, it is my mom’s birthday. You would think today would be a happy day full of celebration, but it’s not for me. I haven’t heard my mother’s voice in 6 years. It’s been even longer since I’ve seen her. I’ll never forget the last phone call we ever had. We were having a great conversation and she did her usual thing of asking me why my brothers don’t ever call her and how I should tell them to call her.

Now, my mother is not the greatest person in the world. In fact, she’s pretty unstable. My older brother once told me he remembers her taking pills when we were really young for something. I’m assuming it’s bipolar disorder. Why? The way she talks to us is ridiculous. She hasn’t been a very good mother to us so we sort of drifted away from her when my parents got divorced. She has caused a lot of drama, made scenes, and just been out-right cruel to us since then. She was never very good to me as a child either, but that’s a story for another day.

My mother would say this every time we talked on the phone; “I don’t know why your brothers don’t ever call me, I don’t understand it, you should tell them to call me” and so on and so forth. I understood why my brothers didn’t want to talk to her. She would always start fights and play the victim; you were always in the wrong with her no matter what was going on.

I didn’t want to lose this relationship with my mother by defending my brothers; after all, she would take offense if I defended them and I would lose the mother-daughter relationship that we never had when I was growing up. I didn’t want it to go away because I said something I knew she wouldn’t like. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut this time, though.

I told her that no matter what I said to them, they didn’t want to have relationship with her right now and if they want to, they will contact her.

Yeah she took that way worse than I expected. I said it as nicely as possible but she wasn’t having it. This triggered a 3 hour shouting match. I don’t yell. I don’t like fighting, I don’t like arguing, and I don’t raise my voice very often but she got me to do it during this phone call. She started crying and yelling about how I needed to be on her side because of the one time in my life I needed my mommy and she was ACTUALLY there for me. How she didn’t know how I could defend them after what they did to her and how they are treating her. It was like she hadn’t done anything wrong.

She hung up a few times on me and I called her back twice to try and keep talking to her and calm her down but on the third time I gave up. I didn’t call back and she didn’t call me back. It really hurt and sucked for a while. I tried to call her on her birthday that year but she didn’t answer and then didn’t call me on my birthday 3 months later. She holds a grudge for a long time unless someone’s health is down the drain; even then sometimes health issues won’t do it.

She started messaging me and my brothers over Facebook and causing problems. She would start out nice and sweet to try and get us on her side again but when we weren’t falling for it she would automatically get hostile and defensive and I couldn’t handle it after a while. I blocked her on Facebook, too and so did my brothers. I haven’t had to deal with her crap in almost a year now. Yeah I miss having a mother in my life but I don’t miss her at all. I have so much less stress in my life without her making up reasons to fight with me.

That being said, today is the day that reminds me of what my mom and I had for the 6 months before I decided to finally be loyal to my brothers. I will never regret being loyal to them because even though they haven’t been there for me that much, they have definitely supported me much more than my mother ever has and they deserve my loyalty much more than she does. I just wish I had a mother sometimes. So even though I don’t really want to honor the birth of my mother, I do want to honor the mother-daughter relationship we should have had. So here’s to what we could have, and should have had.

Happy Birthday, Mommy.