Growing up (long, but real)

So, here I was putting some of my Jamberry samples together and listening to Pandora. A song that I like from a band/singer I have never heard of came on.  The artist is “Plumb”, and the song is  called “Cut”. 

It had me travelling back through my childhood. All the shit that I have been through until now is pretty fucked up. Thinking about it actually started to rev up my anxiety. 

So, I decided to write. Some of this stuff was shared with very few people. Some of it, just Todd. 

I grew up in a very volatile environment like I had said before. Most of the times I thought it was the norm. I was young, trusting, and I didn’t know there was a difference. 

My thoughts are going to jump. As I think of the many instances that stand out, and not about the time and date.

I remember as a young kid, my mom had broken her arm. I never really pieced it together until I had gotten much older. But, my dad had pushed my mom and knocked her down, and she broke her arm. I never asked him about it, he has never confessed. 

Another time, I witnessed my dad flip over a recliner with my mom in it. I remember sitting on the livingroom floor when it happened. 

In general, there was fighting and arguing everyday, several times a day. 

My mom never slept in the bedroom with him. She slept on the couch as far back as I can remember. 

When I was 11 or 12 years old, my older neighbor that I grew up with as a babysitter and I guess friend, dated a guy who later moved in. I used to always go over there, bake cookies with her, play video games and other stuff. So, I never thought twice about going over there when just he was there. One summer, I was hanging out in the bedroom when he said he had something to do. Not thinking anything of it, I stayed. He then proceeded to lock the door and tell me not to tell anybody. He turned on some porn and began masturbating. I was definitely uncomfortable with both what was on the tv and what he was doing. I stared blankly at a newspaper until it was over and excused myself to go home. 

I went back a few more times, curiosity had me. But, after he started to ask me questions and want to include me, I felt it wasn’t right. I eventually told my mother who I made swear she wouldn’t say anything. I quit going over there, and she never told. And, this is the first time I am sharing all this openly. 

As I got older, and welcome the teen years, my family situation became more evident to me. 

If being a teen isn’t already bad enough with trying to find yourself, I had a whole lot of baggage that I carried with me. 

I dated a lot of assholes. I was lost and confused and wanted attention and love. I wanted someone who couldn’t resist me to pine for me and treat me like a queen. 

I never found it. 

The one guy I dated for 4 1/2 years was just as fucked up as I was. I learned how to cut from him. 

A lot of times it worked. For that moment, as tears streamed down my face, the edge of the razorblade numbed every feeling witnin. It is almost like a junkie shooting up. 

The creative being that I am, I would grab a paintbrush and paint with my blood. 

Again, super real here. I don’t hold anything back. 

Later down the line with him, he persuaded me into having a threesome with another girl. I was with a few different girls. Not always sexually. There were two that were more into me than him. There was one that destroyed me. 

He began to see her without me. I didn’t want to share that way. It eventually broke us up. My life began another downward spiral. 

Looking for approval and affection, I moved onto another relationship, that will go down in history for being the worst of all the assholes I dated. 

He was a drug addict. He stole money from me and others, he memorized all my personal info and was attempting to get credit cards in my name. He smacked me down to the ground. He was a lying, thieving cheater and Karma found his ass and did a fabulous job. 

His dad died on my birthday a few years later after battling colon cancer. He was incarcerated for some time for credit card fraud and identity theft. He found his mom slumped over dead in the livingroom a few years later, and last time I heard from him, which was a few years ago, he was battling liver disease and was on the donor list. 

KARMA, she is a real bitch. 

Anyways, after all that, I was just out of control. Drinking and partying and not giving two shits about much of anything. 

I met guys online. One time I passed out drunk and I woke up puking, and bleeding and sore. 

Then I met my ex. At that time in life, I needed somebody to reel me in. I didn’t consciously decide that, I think fate decided for me. 

Because, if I were ever to meet my soulmate, I needed to be alive and well. 

At that point in life, I was already shocked I wasn’t dead yet. Drugs, alcohol, risky behavior. 

I rode that train out until fate lead me to Todd. 

And here we are present day…Always obstacles and tests being put on my path. But, I overcome them every time. I refuse to allow my shitty childhood and bumpy past define me. I may be broken, but I am not unfixable. I may not be perfect, but I am unique. Exactly what I was voted my senior year of highschool. 

I am fine with my tattered edges and rustic style. I have been through a lot. I wear it all as my armor. 

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Cops, black, white, purple…

I am not married to a cop anymore. I can tell you it is a great sense of relief on so many levels. 

With all the shit and chaos going on, I feel the need to express my feelings to a larger audience. 

I gotta say, that nobody is born racist or with hate in their hearts. It is learned. 

People often say, that they do not like to be stereotyped. Well, then quit going with the crowd and break the mold. 

Not all cops are racist, much like not all black people are criminals, or all Muslims are terrorists. 

But, if you feed into the stereotypes, be prepared to be labeled.

I lived with a cop for 12 years. 12 years of my life where I was forced to often take on the role of both mom and dad, because he worked the streets to make sure our community was safe. 

It didn’t matter the color of your skin. If you called, he would be there. 

But, time and time again, there was a pattern. The black community had no respect, just because they hold a grudge. Not all of course. But, when there was a gunshot victim, 95% of the time, the color of their skin made them a statistic. 

Why? 

Nobody really knows. 

There is scum everywhere. There is way more injustice and crime and hate that doesn’t make the news. 

He dealt with situations that almost made him want to puke. People molesting or abusing their children. Rapes and assault. 

These faces have no color, because it is not a black/white thing. Some people are just damaged. 

What is unfortunate is that the media helps to spread the hate. They stereotype and point fingers better than anybody else. 

And because we are inidated with their words, we tend to believe it and accuse or judge prematurely. 

Sadly, as a cops wife, you learn to hate everyone, because all walks of life can do bad things. Not just black. Not just Muslim. 

I quit watching the news many years ago. I was sick of the bad things, and sick of the media forcing their judgements down my throat. 

Let’s just live people. Not all cops are bad. Not all black people are criminals. 

The great divide we have created is going to cause a civil war. And for what. 

Thank a cop for what they do. Thank a black man for holding the door on the way out of the local coffee shop. Thank a Muslim for letting you cut in when there is traffic. Thank a mom for picking up the pacifier your kid just tosssed to the ground. Thank a dad for helping you carry your groceries when you are pushing a stroller. Thank an old man for letting you cut ahead of him in line because you only have a few things. Thank an old lady for complimenting you on how darling your kids are. 

There are good people everywhere. You just have to find them and not judge them before they act or speak. 

We all came into this world the same way. Nobody is better than the other. 

Just live people. Just live.