What you are about to read is the result of a five hour mind dump journal entry. I normally keep these saved where only I can access them. For the purpose it may contain a few things others can relate to I am sharing it. This will also get a huge emotional ball of shit out of my system as well.
Everything in life is one giant cyclic vortex starting at the center at the beginning of time and ever widening as it continues expanding onward and upward. These cycles are the life path which we create out of the habits which we unknowingly and sometimes unwilling develop at ages younger than most memories will allow us to reflect on. Only by recognizing the patterns of our behavior as well the words and actions of those around us can we begin to decipher the question of why we are who we are in this very moment. After all, we are exactly who we created ourselves to be.
We are amazing at masking the pain we hold deep within ourselves. Most people will go entire lifetimes without ever knowing it is there and it is simply dismissed as forgotten memories or faded with age. I no longer have that luxury. Every moment I am constantly reminded of events I had long forgotten and with each realization comes a game of piecing together the clues inside of my brain and putting them together to give me a complete picture of the emotions and thoughts that are floating through my mind. This can be things I am well aware of and more often than not, I find that it is something subconsciously troubling me. Once I can put my finger on what it is and why it is troubling me I can simply move on and let it go.
This has helped me break through personal barriers and gain a much greater realization and acceptance of who I am. Some of them were simple insecurities and others were fears and anxieties most people simply leave the fuck alone. Each time I find myself at an emotional wall within myself I have to find a way to break it down so I can release the demons which I shielded behind it. This building of walls has been happening since I was an infant as the environment I was raised in conditioned me to make choices and decisions based upon the people and things around me. History always repeats itself. Even in the subconscious every day life and mind of myself.
Connecting the dots and reverse engineering my habits and actions allows me to better understand how and why I developed the habits I did. I had masked many years of pain and hurtful emotions by hiding them with a smile and positive attitude. After all, the black sheep surely doesn't want to upset the herd. I learned from a very young age that life was going to be a rough fucked up road to travel and so I chose to bottle up my emotions and push through whatever it is life had to throw at me. I was by no means the biggest or baddest kid on the block. What I was though was probably one of the most emotionally devoid kids due to a really fucked up start to a crazy life.
Most kids get to have loving parents who treat them with love and kindness. Most kids were shielded from the horrors of the world. Even when things fell to shit with Mommy and Daddy there was a 50/50 chance that there would be at least one cool step-parent later on. Most kids got the chance to be kids without parents royally fucking up their program. Most kids definitely weren't me.
From day zero I was a procrastinator, or so they say. Two weeks late and no sign of coming out on my own. Oh sweet jebus how this explains so much about my later choices in life. But anywho, I was quite comfortable being a soulless tumor relying on my mother for everything I needed to keep me going. Nine months in that cozy little hotel of pot resin and alcohol was enough to make me want to stay right there forever. Evidently women are a bit greedy when their vagina gets overrun by a seven pound ball of flesh so they want you to check out when the room is due to be vacated. In my first act of civil disobedience I told her to fuck off as I was staying right where I was. This would also be my first time of my Mommy dearest showing me who is the boss.
Her and some doctor guy thought it would be a swell idea to simply cut out a few walls and extract me from my humble little room in the Uterus Hotel. So at some atrocious point in time I was evacuated against my will and told I could never return. Day fucking one and this bitch and I are already on shaky ground. It may have been her uterus but it was my home. I spent almost ten months all snuggled and warm and doing somersaults all day long. I went from the wet and wild tropical vagina vacation right out into the blasted frozen arctic chill of the near freezing room in which my extraction took place. No wonder I fucking hate cold weather.
And for some asinine reason the bastard who yanked me from paradise thought that it was appropriate to slap me on the ass and shove some weird tube down my throat. Wanna guess why I enjoy doing adult entertainment so much? Before I could even blink I was being choked, gagged and spanked by some strange guy wearing latex gloves. Habits get formed before we even realize it and the events associated with them are all that change as life goes on.
The story goes that I looked more like the offspring of Big Bird than a human as my skin was bright yellow from jaundice. Evidently it is a liver condition and I am sure this is in no way connected to my lovely mother's alcohol consumption while I was living it up in the Coochie Cabana. Every vice I was ever going to develop such as nicotine, caffiene, alcohol, pot and BDSM I had already been programmed with before the first day of my eviction even came to to an end.
However, it was my first as a homeless junkie looking for another spanking and all I could was lay there and cry with frustration and emotional pain deeper than anyone would ever know. Which includes myself until right now. I did learn real quick though that the louder I cried the more attention I got and the more the nurses would cuddle me right up on their lovely womanly boobs. I may have been unable to speak a fucking word but hot damn could I scream. This my first lesson that squeaky wheel gets the grease. Man, I learned so many important lessons during my transitory stay snuggled up to nurse boobies and all the milk I could drink. That is until I got home.
Ah yes home sweet motherfucking home. Or as it affectionately called in the bible, Hell. My parents weren't what you would call “prepared to have children.” I was a mistake as it was so eloquently jokingly said. Being that I know now that even sarcasm has truth behind it I realize how much of a bitch my Mom was going to be. If I had known then what I know now, whew jebus we would had some strong words back then. However, since I could only scream and yell that is exactly what I did. And all the fucking time too. Bitch, you wanted me out so get to doing what your supped to do and take care of me.
Most of my memories that I vividly remember go back to around three and after. I have blocked out these memories as it is the source for all of my pain, suffering and all around being fucked up for my entire life. My birthday is January 16th. My Dad died on January 15th, the day before my third birthday. This was a huge chunk of joy and enthusiasm in my life and it was destroyed without my consent. On day Daddy was there and the next week I was at his funeral being told that he is going to be gone forever. That was when every piece bitter rage and hatred within my three-year-old body took over and said “Fuck YOU!” to the world.
The repression of emotion from this event would be why I would no longer cry at funerals ever again. It be why death was always something that just happened as was never a big deal. It would be the motivating factor of a life of defiance and vengeance. I can't control who lives or dies but can sure as fuck unleash my wrath on anyone who defies my world as I want it to be. These were all lessons I learned really fucking early in life.
As a child of three it is way easier to get away with masking the pain with being a total freak. Kids will be kids they always say but what they don't know is some kids are really fucked up beyond belief because nobody wants to tell them why their Daddy is gone. Only that he is gone and not coming back. Yes, it was a car accident that killed my Dad. He hit a patch of ice and slammed into a tree. A tree which is still there today and still bears the the black tar patch applied to save the tree. Glad we figured out how to save a fucking tree before healing a person. Go team! However, I have never been told the full story by my mother as to why he was out late at night driving fast on wintery roads.
My parents had separated when I was somewhere after the age of two. Rumor, and by rumor I mean what I overheard periodically from the adults in my family, had it that they were on the verge of divorce. I do know that my mom was a lot lizard and so I am guessing her penchant for being an alcohol fueled blowjob dispensary sort of pissed off my Dad. So it was slipped to me once, that she was out fucking around when my Dad careened into a tree in a town where the local IQ is about as equal to the teeth they have remaining in their frothing cesspool of Efferdent and menthol.
Some people have formidable years. I had severe beating and punishment for the most mundane bullshit that when I went to Marine Corps boot camp I was on a fucking vacation for twelve weeks. They could scream and yell but they sure hell weren't allowed to beat us. My Mom's favorite was wooden spoons and paddle ball paddles. This would be where I developed my disdain for having bruises. Even if a small one is on my leg I get all emo about it and wear tights to hide them. Fucking A, she should have become a Drill Instructor. How do you learn things? You ask “Why?” Asking my mother why anything would only result in “because she fucking said so” and if I pushed the issue she would eventually lose her shit and beat me.
My years from three to around eight were some of the most delightfully awesome moments of my life. By awesome moments I mean I am full of shit and I learned real quick how to make the best out of a really bad situation. This would be where I would become the bundle of joy and happiness I was raised to be. I am my Mother's child and that cunt fucked me up real good. I carried around no self-worth from my Father's death and my Mother made damn sure I never found it again.
This would be where I also developed a huge case of Stockholm Syndrome as even though my abuser and jailer was viciously evil to me it was the only idea of love I had ever known. Even though I was treated the the way I was in white trash prison I had nothing else to compare it to. It wasn't like kids asked other kids if their mom chased them around to beat them with stuff. It was the world that I knew and I developed some very key elements to my life while this was happening. I learned how to entertain myself and make due with what little I had. This also lead to me being dependent on my jailer for everything as well as becoming socially awkward as I had little to no interaction with kids except for one. Who just happened to be Catholic and whose life goal was to be a priest at the age of four. Yep, fucking tripped me the fuck out too.
I began my training in the creative arts as I was a damaged child whose only friend wanted to be the pope. So I spent most of time exploring wherever it was my imagination would go to. Drawing, building blanket forts, and seeing whatever it was I could get into before getting in trouble were my main ways of spending my days. Mom even seem to chill out a bit and I remember us actually having some fun times together. It was a rough existence for a toddler but is was world and cherished every bit of it. I soon learned that this life of solitude would lead me down a road I was in no way ready to be on.
Being that my mother was my only mentor she became my inspiration and somewhere she decided she was cool with having a daughter. I saw her wearing make-up so I wanted to wear make-up. I saw the clothes she wore so I wanted to wear those clothes. I saw everything mommy did so I did everything I could do to emulate it. She knew full well I was playing with her make-up and raiding her closet. This is where I found my fascination with pantyhose. Nothing else would fit my three-year-old frame but I could easily slide on a pair of pantyhose and instantly feel like a woman. Or at least the personification of the woman I was closest to, my mother and this is why when I fully embrace my feminine side I am cold evil dominating bitch. I learned it all from mommy dearest. Mommy dearest never once beat me or condemned me for playing dress up. Me being her little girl, even if only through the power of make-believe, somehow put her temper at ease.
Life was all fine and dandy until I turned four and was sent to preschool. The great wide open of the playground which is the gladiator pit of self-development as a child would become a place I quickly despised. At home I had been babysat by Sesame Street so I knew the entire alphabet, could count to 20, spell my name and write my phone number at the age of four. In my redneck town this is the equivalent to being a human calculator. I was fucking great at learning and I loved it. What I fucking hated was when my world at home with mommy came into a head-on collision with society.
Her name was Jerry and this bitch would be the catalyst for a whole bunch of bullshit I went through during my life. We were sitting there playing with toys inside the school room and I saw her black and white saddle shoes and thought they were simply the greatest pair of shoes ever. So I did what any kid would do when the greatest pair of shoes is right in front of you. I asked her where she got them as I really wanted a pair. She promptly looked at me at told me “These are girls shoes. You can't have them. You're stupid.” Which is why I really fucking hate being called stupid to this day.
This innocent little moment of children being children fucking stung hard. First I am told I can't have shoes and then the little bitch calls me stupid? Well fuck her and her fucking ugly shoes. This is also why I am a total shoe whore now and collect them like baseball cards. Little miss prissy britches was just afraid they would look better on me so fuck her. Speaking of baseball cards, yea I know (Squirrel), I had a ton of them. I was really into baseball and make-up at the same time. I really have always been a complete walking contradiction my entire life.
I asked Santa for an easy bake oven and a cabbage patch doll one year and my mom got me both. There was never this steady blending of gender roles for me. I was always way on one side or the other. Some children have imaginary friends. I had an imaginary wife and thirteen kids. Talk about over compensating for some inner gay tendencies there. Even at five I was out to prove myself to the world. I just wanted to look fabulous as I did it.
All of my fun and fantasy would come to a screeching halt when Momma of the year brought home the biggest asshole of a boyfriend. The thing about Mom being a trucker slut is she really limited herself to whole lot of nothing. This motherfucker was bound and determined to just fuck up my program at every juncture. This would be where getting a beating by Mom would be more loving and endearing than anything Mr Asshole had in store.
Once again, my whole fucking world was getting split up and thrown to then ends of the universe because mommy got way too drunk and decided this dickhead was just what we needed in our lives. Gee thanks mom. Where they out of rabid pitbulls at the dog pound? I would no longer have the chance to raid the closet or play with make-up in the bathroom as Dipshit was always there to beat it out of me. Just being a kid was no excuse and now that he was permanently affixed to our couch and fucking my mother there was no hiding from it either. This was when my interests in school and everything else I had going on in my six-year-old world went tits up and I shut it all off.
Mom ended selling the land and trailer she bought with the insurance from my Dad playing chicken with big fucking tree. Did he hit the ice or just want to fucking end it all so he wouldn't have deal with my mom's bullshit? Oh wow, new puzzle piece just went into place. Years later one of her boyfriend's did actually blow his brains out in our backyard because of her. So being that history does repeat itself, it could very well be possible that Dad's accident was actually Dad's exit strategy. Either way it was still her fault he did it.
Anywho, back to the trailer. Mom sold it and her my new step-douche bought a new one and a piece of land in the middle fucking nowhere just about about a mile away from the local schools where I knew people. Instead, I once again had to relocate my world and try to figure it all out again. Now I was a stranger in an even stranger land. I was eight years old, been through about half a dozen moves, had my appendix removed, and now this dickhead was going to try to teach me how to be a man. Oh what a fucking great role model mommy picked out for me.
For the next year I got to get teased constantly at school as the new kid, get ridiculed by Douchy McAsshole and his equally jerkoffish and possibly inbred friend, Wolfard and get to watch my mother get beat by Douchy just as bad as she used to do it to me. I even got a few kicks with cowboy boots, whipped with wiper bladed and punished for getting sick and vomiting on the floor. It was one fuck of a way spend being eight years old.
One night it all came to a head as my mom was getting her nightly beating but this night something went off. Granted, my mom had a special flair for pissing people off but she was still my mother if anyone was going to beat it her it was at least going to be deserved. I have no idea what sparked the argument but I remember there was a different tone in the shouts of “Fuck you!” that night. I ran into the bedroom and saw Dickhead on top of her on the bed holding her down and pummeling her. To put a quick end to the ordeal I promptly went to the closet and grabbed the shotgun and vehemently screamed in my angry as fuck eight-year-old voice for him to “Let my mom alone!”
The screaming mixed with the vision of a small child aiming a shotgun at them froze things for a second which gave mom a chance to get up and run. I drop the shotgun and went with her right out the door and right on down the driveway. The only reason I didn't shoot the fucker was I didn't want to shoot my mom in the process. We made our way down the long winding dirt road where Mom's cowhore in lot lizardland came to pick us up. That would be the culmination of yet another move and even more bottled up emotions that no kids is ever ready to deal with.
I was at least going to be going back to the school I came from before we left town. Just this time we had to rent a place instead of having our own home. It wasn't long until mommy would have another guy around. This guy was actually really fucking awesome. I have no idea how my cunt of a mother found this man but she did real good in doing so. He was really awesome to me and treated me really good. He was also really nice to my mom where he was affectionate and there was never any arguing. Life was good, sort of.
I still had my “I wanna be mommy complex” going on so I was still into the raiding her closet and playing with make-up. Being that Mr Awesomesauce was always around meant I had less and less time to really do anything. So whenever there was a snow day or I was home alone there was a 100% chance of be getting dolled up. Being that my inspiration for what made me a woman now consisted of rock videos and the occasional porn mommy's previous orgasm donor would have playing on the tv I got a whole new perspective on what chicks looked like and did for boys. Ever seen the Brady Bunch? My childhood was the exact opposite.
I was visiting my grandmother as I did every weekend and my mom showed up all weeping and out of mind. She asked if I knew Mr Awesomesauce and I was like duh, he's your boyfriend. To which she replied, “He shot himself last night.” As you can see I get my subtlety from my mother. I was like “In the foot, the leg? Where?” “In the head” she replied. Sweet jebus my mom can really deliver news to someone. Another dude, another death and yet another move. At what point was I ever going to simply be a fucking kid?
I rarely ever stayed at one address for more than a year or two after she pissed away everything to get married to Mr Dickhead. The only constant thing was change in my life. Mom kept dating losers and dickheads on the side. I kept raiding her closet and playing with her make-up. She finally at one point quit dating altogether and became a homebody as her cowhore in bj delivery was off being happily married and moved out of state. It was a real blow to the both us when we there right back to only the two of us just as when I was five all over again. Only this time I was 13 and puberty was taking its toll.
This would effectively be the end of my childhood. Hormones were taking over and I was still a shattered mess from the previous twelve glorious years. Yes, there were happy times and I had really great times growing up. Those are the easy things to talk about though. The happy-go-lucky story of sunshine rainbow will be told eventually. This, right here has been what has been eating away at me my entire life. Now we see how much I blame my Mother for the death of my Father. We got a first hand look at how lack of communication and corporal punishment taught me to bottle everything in side and never ever talk about. Well, now that rule has been broken and I am sharing this with whoever wants to read it. By doing so it no longer has any power over me and I can finally let it go.
There is a so much more to write and it will all come in due time.
