Life with Two

I knew the bastard wouldn’t let his check be garnished for long. Apparently, Matt is no longer working and Child Support doesn’t know where he is. I don’t care if he doesn’t pay child support. In the long run, when I finally start the custody process, that will help me out. It’s the point that he is still taking no responsibility for his actions. He doesn’t want or care about Logan, hasn’t seen him in years. Quit using him as though he is a distant trophy to make your life more interesting or to get laid and sign him away to me. You hang on to that name on his birth certificate out of spite and control over me, nothing more. And, as wrong as it was to make a child by choice and not care for him, its so much worse to be selfish here with the rest of Logan’s life. You’re already going to be a perminant black stain on his life because of your absence. Give the conclusion of your sperm sympathy enough now to leave us the Hell alone!

I was raised as a selfish child. There were multiple reasons for this, but the biggest two were determination and a pile of guilt. These were the foundations of my very being, creating a monster lurking in the shadows of my own decisions toward life.

Determination, as the first reason, was because my mom wanted to give me more than she ever received growing up. Her family had little money and morals and the responsibilities of a parent were far different back then. Kids were the clean up crew, the people you could shrug at when they demanded an answer, a free babysitter for the younger kids. They deserved respect only when they were old enough to take it. Some may argue that this style of parenting is better. After all, my generation turned out to be little more than spoon-fed titty babies complaining about every stupid thing that wasn’t given to them when they wanted it. They know little about a Tough Shit attitude, nor about hard work to get the things you want. I’m among these brats, so I know what I’m talking about. Still, this is a separate argument from my point.

Because of how she was treated by a verbally cruel, drunk father and an unresponsive, sibling favoring mother, my Mom decided to give me what she never had; a voice. I had respect, love and barely had to lift a finger with things known as chores. Sure, she would expect some things; clean my room, bring my used dish to the sink, share with my younger siblings, but it was nothing in comparison to what she did around the house. She was once a super mom, ready to swoop in on any mess, feed all starving mouths and provide the most interesting activities that she countlessly did alongside us.

This brings me to the second reason; guilt. When I was about ten years old, my mother became sick with a phenomena called Fibromyalgia, a disease that effects the nerves and causes pain. At first, it was something that only effected her sometimes, but it eventually became severe. At that time, this disease was something doctors considered “all in your head”. All medicines were experimental so relief was hard to come by. I’m sure you can understand the emotional trauma that caused my mom. Her kids were too young to understand, her husband couldn’t relate and, therefore, also couldn’t understand and all her family decided she was simply drug seeking, as doctors thought of anyone with this disease. My mom felt alone, unimportant and misunderstood by all. It lead to a terrible and long depression I still cringe to remember. Because she had been in control of everything for so long, it was almost painful for her to give in to the immobilizing pain she was going through. She couldn’t be there for her kids physically, so she settled for giving us guilt gifts, lots and lots of them. We almost ruled the roost and got just about anything we could ask for. We didn’t understand how we took advantage of her at our young age, no more than she knew how to retrieve back the respect and control over us she once had. It was a constant and inconsistant battle she fought with her guilt and need to control.

That is the shortest summary I can give for my life as a child and how it ultimately created me. Now, after years and years of that sort of life, how do I raise my babies? My parents were in bed mostly, usually with a “Get out!”, that I now know had to do with massive pain they were trying to overcome. But its hard to untangle everything and become a better parent for my kids.

Sometimes, I feel like my childhood never really occurred and that I deserve more me time. What if I am incapable of conquering my selfish tendencies? Sometimes I feel so bitter with things, so weak with my own self-absorbed sympathies… Being a parent is the most selfless job of all and I can’t help hoping that Bryanna, and not just Mother or Wife, doesn’t get lost in the pile up. I watched my mom suffer as though she had no choice, as though she had to give the world despite possibly never getting anything back (In fact, she rarely did). I hope I can overcome these deep-rooted shadows inside myself to give my kids the best side of me and not the selfish one…

(Source: erickatheicon)