A Note From The Writer



Welcome to the archived blog posts (when I was a wee blogger, wet behind the ears and not aware of spell check and various other gramatical structures!) I have kept the writings unedited or reworked as I am in the process of doing a massive rewrite of my entire life, many posts I have yet to publish and this blog was merely writing practise for the massive job of sorting out my emotions whilst retelling the story as cuttingly real and dramatic as the real memory was.. some of the posts contained are raw, streaming emotion.. many posts although painful to write, had a tremendously cathartic effect - cheaper than therapy one would say. I welcome new and old readers to keep in touch via my author email (sensualexplorersatHotmaildotcom) if you have any questions or wish to share the feelings and emotions raised by my work.
I will announce the publish date and title whenever it happens and I have been clean now for three years. It is possible.
But it is never easy. It's a lifelong journey, I will always be an addict, but I must stay one step ahead of myself and protect all that can be ruined in the eternal struggle to be
at ease once again, comfortable in this skin.
Thank you for being a part of my story.

Monday, October 11, 2004

Nothing Compares 2 You

Finally done, here is the memoir.

There is a song that is inside my soul - there is one I have tried to write over and over again.
So I try with you now - to talk about it - out aloud, so to speak. Why is it so hard? Are you my only friend?

I am only a child, six years of age , to be precise. I guess a little new inside myself. My father has remarried to The Stepmother who had a son, The Stepbrother. Both Stepmother and Stepbrother were very wary of letting me inside their lives - even though they had my Dad. They had him and I didn't know where I was going to fit. I got tired of trying to make them see me. I found my place in the background and there I remain.


"Make room for me please !" Is anyone listening ?
"I'm down here !"
But I did not feel any warmth from the strangers. I was a hassle. An inconvience. A by-product of an unsavoury union. That's my parents you are speaking about.
I wish they would get back together , but that doesn't happen. Ever.

So, I didn't kiss my parents on the lips anymore. My toys lost their shine. The backyard swing, just didn't swing as high anymore. Daddy stopped putting me on his shoulders, I was too big I know, but it was all I had.
Nothing can stop these lonely tears from falling...

The Stepmother made me felt like a charity case, like an anamoly in her dreams of how things should be in her new marriage. I went from being an the apple of my father's eye to on the edge of his peripheral. I felt like a thorn between my Father and his new wife. I guess nothing has really changed. I tried to fit in. Honest.

Why won't you believe me daddy? Do you ever think of her as well ? Do you think of how she hurt you too and now she has hurt me? Do you feel sad when you see me , and you see her at the same time?

Before I moved in permanently with the new family, I was shuttled between my birth parents. I remember my mother always keeping my garbage bags packed to "go back to your Father's". I had a couple bags crammed with imperfect toys and a few photo's but that was it. I had to leave my bikes and my bedroom behind. I am afraid. I want my mummy. But I did not know if she wanted me. I just had to believe it. I had believe in somebody. I was, just a child, after all.

Sometimes , my birth mother would forget that I had to go to school. We would be sitting at the breakfast table and I would watch her fall asleep into her breakfast cereal stoned, her cigarette smoldering into the cornflake sodden floor. I would start to cry because I knew this meant she would have to give me back soon. Then we would both cry. I was responsibility. I was too much to remember. My mother is gorgeous and when she smiled - she could take your breath clean away. I will never forget how she looked, how she smelt - how she was.

Sometimes, she even forgot about me all together. With my little hands I would clean up the mess, that was my mother , tuck her back into bed. Shower her little kisses. Then I would go and watch cartoons, very quietly. On the days that she did remember that I had school - I would be waiting outside school at hometime long after all the children had been collected - it seemed like I was waiting and waiting for her all of my life , but she just wouldn't come , or couldn't come so the principal would drive me home and I would feel ok again. He was a friendly man and he seemed to understand that I was a good little girl. I didn't care if my Mummy looked "bad" - I knew she was a good mummy. But no one else ever believed me. When he dropped me home , I made myself dinner and put myself to bed. I was a big girl. I even made Mummy dinner - but she would be too sick to eat and would throw the plate at the wall. But it is ok. Maybe later, mummy.

Other times, much sweeter times when she got clean for a little bit, she was the only person who could ever make me feel like I was the centre of the universe. She wasn't perfect, but hey she was my Mum. So I forgave her. Constantly. I am that kind of girl. That hasn't changed.
But she always got sick again. So she lost custody of me. It changed my life. And no-one ever asked me how I felt about it. And now, well - I can barely speak about it.

My mother was in the throes of heroin addiction herself, and I guess I was just in the way a lot of the time, for a lot of people. But I managed to keep my chirpy disposition in light of the constant hurt and rejection I was feeling. I still don't know if I bottled it up - I get angry that no-one went out of their way to really think about how a small child would be feeling. Did they stop for a minute , for me, whether I had anything to do with how the grown-ups decided to live their lives ? Will anyone tell me why it is so hard to think of the children?

Sometimes I want to find her. I want to find my mother. It has been seventeen very long years - I think about her often , I look in the mirror and I am her. I remind my Father of her and I know that we are very similar - we are family. I want to tell her about the abuse, the sex work and about the drugs. I want her to care - I want her to sympathize. I want her to feel bad.

Yet, I can wish all I want ( and believe me I do ) The Stepmother has told me, so many times I have lost count, that she doesn't want to find me and if she wanted to - she would. So I remain a prisoner of my own anxiety.
Mother, I wish I could have the courage to find you. I wish I could undo all the bad words spoken about you, in my mind by others, unravel the lies and perhaps attempt to find the truth.
It is what we deserve. Can I let you destroy me with your final rejection? Do you know that I put needles in me as well - to try and understand that final day you drove off into the horizon.
I wanted to emulate you and feel that I could understand how a mother could leave her child - forever. How could you be so cruel? How could I be a part of you, I am nothing like you.
I am full of love and loyalty - do I even want to know you ? What kind of person are you to do that ? And never look back...

Should I do what you taught me to do?
Could I possibly learn to forget you

As much as I hate to love you , I love you more than ever.

All the flowers that you planted, mama
In the back yard
All died when you went away
I know that living with you baby was sometimes hard
But I'm willing to give it another try
cause nothing compares ...
Nothing compares to you

HeroineGirl





10 comments:

Eddie said...

for the love of god i still cannot fully comprehend the last paragraph.

i was going to write something insightful, but i deleted it. who am i to say anything like that anyway.

i'll just say that life is a bitch, and you just happened to be a male dog.

love, eddie

Eddie said...

i just realized that i might have sounded like a jerk or a stupid jock in the previous comment, but i read it over and stand by it. i mean, look at you now. amazing.

HeroineGirl said...

I don't get it !

I am not a dog, not even metaphorically !
I am fabulous, and definately feline, I might add.
Careful now, sooky la la is making a comeback. lol.

I'm also not hard done by - I am living proof that you can be whatever you want to be, regardless of what hand you are dealt, everyone can be a heroine or a hero in my eyes, they just have to be true to themselves and fight for those freedoms.

I changed the photo, I was not in a smiling mood.
I may take a smiling one later, when I am not so cross.

HG
(not a dog)

Eddie said...

ok i need to be filled in on the sooky la la. im leaning towards it being your evil alternate identity. well mine's bruce wayne if you wanted to know.

and, in the metaphor that life is a bitch, i meant that (in a complimenting, adding-to-the-metaphor sense) you are dukin the bitch doggystyle.

aww, i had to walk you through that one.

another thing: i dont know how you could live in australia. you lived in america once, right?

love, eddie

Eddie said...

again, the metaphor had nothing to do with putting you down or comparing you in any way, shape, or form to an actual dog OUTSIDE of the metaphor. face it. you are a metaphoric dog in that instance. it was a perfect connection :)

darling maggot said...

you know, this isn't an attempt or proof of narcissism but i am reminded very much of a series of journal entries i wrote a long time ago and posted in the archives of my blog. i called them the "suicide journals" because, well, every one of them i wrote when i was feeling suicidal, anything to take my mind off the situation. i should dig them up sometime if you're bored and indoors on a cold day.

Kim said...

HG, for me one of the stops on becoming an adult was resolving or at least bringing up the issues that I have had left over from my childhood with my parents. That process continues with my father and I achieved a satisfactory begining with my mother, truncated by her suicide.

I encourage you to find the courage to seek out your mother. She may want to heal also but is too ashamed. If she rejects you the pain will be great but you will know that you tried.

With love,

Kim

HeroineGirl said...

Oooh! Lots of lovely comments to wake up to this morning. Thank you all my friends :)
Thank you Kim for addressing the question that I guess I subliminally added for my own benefit. I will expound more upon it now, so I will open up the floor to comment. I want to know if any readers out there have had similar experiences about meeting an estranged parents?

I am angry at her too you know? 17 Years is a long time , and I was a good child, we were very close. Do I really want to understand and forgive something like that? I know I want to love her - that's all I know.
I just don't know if it ever is an equal transaction anymore, so much can be said for the glorified memories of childhood, she probably would just make me mad and sad now. I just don't know. Not to mention my recovery is the most important to me, and my state of mind. I am currently on a light form of chemo, and I have to watch my mental state. I voted on the weekend, and it occured to me that she would be on the same electoral roll as me, but no longer in the same section , as she remarried. No one will help me find her either. No one wants me to get hurt and more truthfully, everyone wants me to put those days behind me. But I am sick of living my life for everyone else.
I don't know her birthday even. The secrecy within our family is horrendous, I have no idea how to begin to look for someone, that does not seem to want to be found.

Whoa, verbal explosion.
Thanks Kim, I needed that.

Anonymous said...

your writing stunned me ,it's beautiful. go looking for her,for both your sake's.

Kim said...

I really don't know a lot about CD recovery so this maybe way off base. In as much as recovery includes acknowledging your own faults and confronting your past, coming to terms with your mother (and the rest of your family) maybe part of your recovery. Now may not be the right time because it is likely to be emotionally traumatic, but you will be stronger.

Estrangement and abandonment doesn't describe my relationship with my mother since our relationship was clouded by her mental illness that often resulted in her not being there when I needed her growing up.

Love

Kim