"We choose our truths the way we choose our gods, single-sightedly, single-mindedly, no other way to feel or see or think. We lock ourselves into our ways, and click all the truths to one.
We put our truths together in pieces, but you use nails and I use glue. You mend with staples. I mend with screws. You stitch what I would bandage. Your truth may not look like mine, but that is not what matters. What matters is this: You can look at a scar and see hurt, or you can look at a scar and see healing. Try to understand."
I have become charted territory. I think I was born damaged. I've heard "No" so much that trying to say it to other people became painful. And that, unfortunately, has made me charted territory. I thought that giving the person I loved would make them love and want me forever. But not even a year has passed and I am normal, ordinary...me. There is no more, "I can't keep my hands off you," in which those actual words were never spoken, but the actions screamed them just the same. Now the actions recall that of a couple married for years without the benefit and comfort of time, and definitely with no nuptials in sight or even mind.
The feeling would be passible if it were mutual, but to me, there are still discoveries. There are still things about him that take my breath away. There are things that take me by surprise: a nice gesture or interesting conversation and I'm back in love again.
I walked in to the house through the open door, groceries in hand: sherbet, noodles, and supplies to make a sad baby happy, and was met by music flowing into the kitchen. I emptied the bags quietly, and walked past him, playing his guitar (something I don't see very often), not saying a word because I didn't want him to stop. Jude was waiting for me, peeking around the corner, sniffling. He walked quietly into the living room with me, entranced by the melody that was playing. I thought of this side of him that I hadn't seen before, and knew that I would love him for the rest of my life. I was doomed that day, to wait for him forever.
As for me, I know I'll never be the girl he fell in love with months ago, but I sigh at the fact that I once was in the first place.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
When You Look For It
Bad things have happened in the past week. I have bruises all over my arms, trying to heal, although I keep finding more as the days pass...on my chest and my back. I know there are some things I could have done to have avoided the confrontation that happened, but at the time, I was angry and unwilling to accept that my space was going to be invaded. In short, I mouthed off to my step dad while he was drunk and then locked myself in the bathroom. He got in and came at me, so I pushed him away...very aggressively. I've never been scared of him, or really anyone as of lately, mostly because he's never raised a hand to me and has said hurtful things, but those things were true so they didn't really count. I wasn't scared to push him because I thought it would snap him out of a rage I'd never seen in him, but it did the opposite. He grabbed my arms and pushed me back against the towel holder on the wall. I slapped his hands away and pushed him again and he grabbed my throat. My mom pulled him away and stepped between us, screaming at him that I was pregnant, and all the while, I was not afraid, but infuriated, because I have been beaten up by both my father and first stepfather and refused to be bullied again by another grown man. When he left the bathroom, my arm was swelling and my belly was killing me from my mother being pressed against it in my defense. I was hyperventilating and almost left that night, but I didn't. I didn't sleep well that night, unable to sleep on my left side, stomach, or back. My right side was my only slight comfort, and that ached as well. The next day, the bruises were in full glory: 4 on my left arm, 2 on my right arm, 1 on my back, 1 on my shoulder, and 1 on my neck/chest. I came home from work and stepped into my mom and stepdad's room. Jude was watching tv with him and jumped down from the bed to hug me. My stepdad looked down and then started to cry. We talked. I didn't want that to be the end of the first real dad I'd ever had. After 8 years of knowing him, I'd never known him to do anything like that before. Anything. We were on eggshells for a couple of days, and now things are essentially back to normal, except when he looks at me, his eyes are cloudy and mine are tired. I haven't seen him drink all week.
I am on a leave of absence from work. I feel more alone than ever. I feel disconnected from my friends and family, but I'm trying to mend everything together. I get to see Tahiri's dad on Monday, and I'm going to keep a low profile this weekend, just loving on my son and trying to relax. I thought today was going to be bad, but then, the sun came out and the breeze was perfect, and I left work heavy hearted but full of optimism.
You can tell a lot about a person from what is in their shopping cart. I went to Walmart...for diapers, pull-ups, kitty litter, and watermelon. I left after shelling out 175 dollars. It started out simply enough. I went to find watermelon and got the last package, then saw the raspberries and tossed them into the cart as well. Then, I went down the frozen aisle, for sherbet, but ended up getting some ben and jerry's as well. Then I saw the cookies and got lemon wafers and soft baked chocolate chip cookies. I got raspberry and blackberry jello. I got beef jerky. I got various flavors of yogurt, including cherry cobbler, mango, strawberry cheesecake, cinnamon roll, and both blackberry and cherry pomegranate. I passed the juice and debated on getting this mango lemonade bathhouse farms drink. I decided to splurge to get it. Finally, I made my way to the diapers and pull-ups. But then, I was in baby territory. I looked at carseats and boosters, and blankets and high chairs. I felt my belly and butterflies lit up my ribcage. I started humming, which I realized I've been doing more of lately as I skimmed the newborn onesies. I grabbed three packages. I started looking at the little girl's clothes and almost cried, realizing that I was finally going to get my wish, the wish I'd had since I was 8 years old, when I would draw pictures of a dark haired girl with fierce blue eyes, the wish that was stolen from me when I was 16. I picked out about a half dozen summer dresses in both 0-3 months and 3-6 months. Then, I started for the other side of the store, where I picked up Valentine's cards for Jude's class-Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, two new books, and finally, the kitty litter. While I'm emptying my basket onto the conveyor belt, an hour after arriving with a four item list, I laugh to myself for the splurge. But it's worth it. It's all very worth it.
I go home to find that not only are my Killers concert tickets waiting on me, but also a letter from the school telling me my diplomas are ready to be picked up. My stepdad offers to pay for the tickets, which I accept with a knowing smile. "And also, if Aaron wants to hit me, I think that would make me feel better too." I laugh. "He doesn't want to hit you, I don't think." I go to my mom's shop, where there is beauty salon gossip swirling around in the air. I feel comfortable there, the daughter of the owner. She trims my hair, blow drying it into luscious layers and I sigh, knowing that as long as I look for the good in things, I'll find them. My bruises will heal, my daughter is coming in 4 short months, and the Killers are even sooner than that. I'm a college graduate with a family, who, although are not perfect, make up for their actions and teach me things that I need to learn. And as abandoned as I feel sometimes, I know that I'll always run to the man I love, and I know that he will receive me with open arms and a nonchalant shrug. But that's what I asked for, and that's what I've got.
I am on a leave of absence from work. I feel more alone than ever. I feel disconnected from my friends and family, but I'm trying to mend everything together. I get to see Tahiri's dad on Monday, and I'm going to keep a low profile this weekend, just loving on my son and trying to relax. I thought today was going to be bad, but then, the sun came out and the breeze was perfect, and I left work heavy hearted but full of optimism.
You can tell a lot about a person from what is in their shopping cart. I went to Walmart...for diapers, pull-ups, kitty litter, and watermelon. I left after shelling out 175 dollars. It started out simply enough. I went to find watermelon and got the last package, then saw the raspberries and tossed them into the cart as well. Then, I went down the frozen aisle, for sherbet, but ended up getting some ben and jerry's as well. Then I saw the cookies and got lemon wafers and soft baked chocolate chip cookies. I got raspberry and blackberry jello. I got beef jerky. I got various flavors of yogurt, including cherry cobbler, mango, strawberry cheesecake, cinnamon roll, and both blackberry and cherry pomegranate. I passed the juice and debated on getting this mango lemonade bathhouse farms drink. I decided to splurge to get it. Finally, I made my way to the diapers and pull-ups. But then, I was in baby territory. I looked at carseats and boosters, and blankets and high chairs. I felt my belly and butterflies lit up my ribcage. I started humming, which I realized I've been doing more of lately as I skimmed the newborn onesies. I grabbed three packages. I started looking at the little girl's clothes and almost cried, realizing that I was finally going to get my wish, the wish I'd had since I was 8 years old, when I would draw pictures of a dark haired girl with fierce blue eyes, the wish that was stolen from me when I was 16. I picked out about a half dozen summer dresses in both 0-3 months and 3-6 months. Then, I started for the other side of the store, where I picked up Valentine's cards for Jude's class-Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, two new books, and finally, the kitty litter. While I'm emptying my basket onto the conveyor belt, an hour after arriving with a four item list, I laugh to myself for the splurge. But it's worth it. It's all very worth it.
I go home to find that not only are my Killers concert tickets waiting on me, but also a letter from the school telling me my diplomas are ready to be picked up. My stepdad offers to pay for the tickets, which I accept with a knowing smile. "And also, if Aaron wants to hit me, I think that would make me feel better too." I laugh. "He doesn't want to hit you, I don't think." I go to my mom's shop, where there is beauty salon gossip swirling around in the air. I feel comfortable there, the daughter of the owner. She trims my hair, blow drying it into luscious layers and I sigh, knowing that as long as I look for the good in things, I'll find them. My bruises will heal, my daughter is coming in 4 short months, and the Killers are even sooner than that. I'm a college graduate with a family, who, although are not perfect, make up for their actions and teach me things that I need to learn. And as abandoned as I feel sometimes, I know that I'll always run to the man I love, and I know that he will receive me with open arms and a nonchalant shrug. But that's what I asked for, and that's what I've got.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Time Heals Everything?
I have a problem with someone. I feel pretentious even saying that. But I have a problem with her. I feel like there is a constant struggle, and although we've never met, I feel like we are competing. I feel like I punch jabs and she returns them, and I always tell the truth, but I don't think that she always does. It's all relative though, right? I just think that if I was her, I would act differently. At least I hope I would. I'm not the most perfect person, and in fact, I'm far from it, but when it comes to someone I care about, I let things go and give them what they deserve. If I love someone, I let them make their own decisions. Or maybe this is me being a hypocrite. Maybe I wouldn't let him go, but I would like to think I would. There is a lot at stake here, and having to constantly share is just irritating.
But I'll make it through. I have songs in my head and they help me through the night. I'm going to dance like there is no tomorrow, even though there is a tomorrow and this particular tomorrow is one when I have to work...I hate having to work on the weekend, but this is the only one for the year, so I guess I'll get over it. I would rather be with a few of my favorites, killing time and focusing on the best. They say time heals everything, and I'm still waiting.
I've been having pains at night. I read the only thing I can see and it blocks everything else out. My stomach gets in knots and I become angry at myself for being so curious, and so jealous when I know the truth and obviously, she may not. Or she does and she's naive like me. Maybe we have a lot more in common than I think.
Tahiri got the hiccups last night. I was in the bathtub, reading, like I do every night before bed, and I started feeling kicks, which is normal. Then, they became regulated and I realized they were hiccups, my baby's first hiccups, and I couldn't help but be so excited that I texted Aaron to tell him.
He never responded.
She keeps me up at night, Tahiri that is. She kicks and pushes and when I get comfortable, she moves to make herself comfortable. This is going to be the story of my life I think. I'm going to spend my entire life devoted to my children, with constant criticism that the 2 babies fathers do not love me. But my children will love me, because I will be the best for them that I can be.
My son is a puppy right now. He's walking on all fours, panting, and holding a block in his mouth, which he has informed me is a bone. I pat him on the head and he shuffles away to tell his Mimi...this is life.
But I'll make it through. I have songs in my head and they help me through the night. I'm going to dance like there is no tomorrow, even though there is a tomorrow and this particular tomorrow is one when I have to work...I hate having to work on the weekend, but this is the only one for the year, so I guess I'll get over it. I would rather be with a few of my favorites, killing time and focusing on the best. They say time heals everything, and I'm still waiting.
I've been having pains at night. I read the only thing I can see and it blocks everything else out. My stomach gets in knots and I become angry at myself for being so curious, and so jealous when I know the truth and obviously, she may not. Or she does and she's naive like me. Maybe we have a lot more in common than I think.
Tahiri got the hiccups last night. I was in the bathtub, reading, like I do every night before bed, and I started feeling kicks, which is normal. Then, they became regulated and I realized they were hiccups, my baby's first hiccups, and I couldn't help but be so excited that I texted Aaron to tell him.
He never responded.
She keeps me up at night, Tahiri that is. She kicks and pushes and when I get comfortable, she moves to make herself comfortable. This is going to be the story of my life I think. I'm going to spend my entire life devoted to my children, with constant criticism that the 2 babies fathers do not love me. But my children will love me, because I will be the best for them that I can be.
My son is a puppy right now. He's walking on all fours, panting, and holding a block in his mouth, which he has informed me is a bone. I pat him on the head and he shuffles away to tell his Mimi...this is life.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
A Response Letter
I am in love with tragedy. Or perhaps just a very tragic man.
I've always thought that I was "in love" every time I was shown attention. But then, you showed up, and eventually, you became a constant and stayed, and you threw everything into perspective. I always thought my purpose was to help people, to heal people, to fix them where they needed fixing. It took me a long time, it took me falling for you~pretty much hopelessly~to realize that was not love. It also made me realize that no one was going to help, heal, or fix me. And out of everyone, I need it the most. More than you, more than any of them.
I've been through too much these 23 years: from no affection and abuse, to the wrong affection and abuse, through stupidity and pregnancy at 16, to a failed engagement, through a second pregnancy followed by a terrible break up spiraling me into the role of single mother, through a misjudgment, third pregnancy, and termination, and then came the most blissful summer of my life, and now, this phase of lonliness, defeat, abandonment, and stupidity with this fourth~and final~pregnancy.
It should have left me jaded. I should hate you, with your apathy, for changing your mind from being in love to selfishness so quickly, or for lying, whichever the case may be. But I look at you and smile, hoping that someday I will be the stronger one, the one you miss, the one you pushed away, the one you never regret. And then you look up, your eyebrows arched in question, and my smile fades because I know I'm nothing to you, and I'm fooling myself to believe that I will ever be acceptable in your eyes. All I am is a vessel for this mistake that you are making the best of, because the guilt of pure abandonment would be too overwhelming. I think about what would have happened if I had ignored the signs of my daughter, of our daughter, and had lost her. Would you and I even be friends? My heart tells me the answer is no. He tolerates you, it says, because his obligation is in your belly.
I used to trust you. Anything you said, I would accept fully, but now I'm not so sure. My trust is beginning to evaporate, to dissapate into fear that it all sounds well and good now, you love her with every thread of your being, but what about when Tahiri gets here? What if she's not what you expected, if she's more like me, a hippy at heart, and your love turns to despise at what she will become? This isn't Californication, and you don't want me. You don't love me, her mother, the shell that carries her, so why would you love her, coming directly as a result of the twisted love you once felt for me, or the pity, or the "say anything to get in this girl's pants and then run away" plan gone terribly wrong? Apparently all I'm good for (along with the other girls my age) is fucking and impregnanting (which should be the name of my book, as opposed to Fucking and Punching). I guess good conversation and happiness are not even in the picture, and yes, that hurts. I always thought you were telling the truth when you said I was the sweetest person you'd ever met, either that or being sweet like me (as well as loving, thoughtful, and forgiving of your being) didn't really matter. Because as soon as I needed you, I proved too dramatic and my love, the only man I've truly loved, dropped me without regret, going back to old news and beginning another cycle of high hopes and heartbreak. But the last I had heard was "I just love you," whispered without my asking you, while you held me, finding the comfortable spot between my chin and my chest, not drunk, but then the apology, "I wish I'd never broken your heart."
I wish that myself, but it doesn't make it hurt less. Because it's impossible to forget you, to EVER forget you, because even as I write this, as I think of you with tears in my eyes, Tahiri, the love child you never initally wanted, kicks at both my bladder and ribs simultaneously. All I can hope is that you remain constant for her, for both of us, for I am attached to her, and thus to you, for the rest of her life. She is already my heart, and she tries to shield me from the pain her father brings. But will she have to forever? That, my love, is your choice.
I am stuck, between loving you and making the best of your love and affection for your daughter, hoping that some of it rubs off on me as her mother, and loathing you for putting me in this situation, for making me crazy, for not loving her enough while she's a part of me. I want to scream, "She's already here! She exists! Help me with her. Be her love by showing us love..." And then your arm grazes over my belly while getting comfortable on the sofa and she moves, taking my breath away, but you don't notice, and I don't want to bother you or push you too much.
"You never disappoint," you once said, but I should've known that would never last. I am a living disappointment. I've never been a satisfactory girlfriend, no matter how hard to tried to be the best. I tried too hard to please the one I was with, and I look beside me now and I know I'm still trying too hard. You don't trust me, and you don't want to talk to me, because I suppose you don't believe I can understand, or that I can contribute to the conversation at all.
Do you feel me slipping away, with the new knowledge that I don't matter and apparently never did? You were the only one who kept me afloat, who shielded me and believed in me, that I was capable of doing anything I set my mind to, when everyday I faced not so playful banter from my parents. But now, I wonder if I was wrong. You don't believe in me either, and it makes me feel more alone and transfixed on the possibility of what if. I stare at myself in the rear view mirror for a few moments, glancing back to find Jude fast asleep, worn out by play. At this moment, I wish I were younger, or older, either in my past or future, anywhere but here. I crave to be something in your eyes, something more than a good lay or an obligation.
Sometimes I think this is possible, and I'm hopeful that we're moving towards an even better team, although I know that during the best of times, we make a great team. I'm waiting to become my character, Karen, and try to find happiness while you find yourself.
Your daughter and her mother will always be here for you, to lean on, to heal you, to forgive you of all your weaknesses (the meaningless sex and drinking to name a couple, Moody) and faults. We don't see those, you see, we think you are perfect, and we crave your attention.
All our love,
Tyshani and Tahiri
I've always thought that I was "in love" every time I was shown attention. But then, you showed up, and eventually, you became a constant and stayed, and you threw everything into perspective. I always thought my purpose was to help people, to heal people, to fix them where they needed fixing. It took me a long time, it took me falling for you~pretty much hopelessly~to realize that was not love. It also made me realize that no one was going to help, heal, or fix me. And out of everyone, I need it the most. More than you, more than any of them.
I've been through too much these 23 years: from no affection and abuse, to the wrong affection and abuse, through stupidity and pregnancy at 16, to a failed engagement, through a second pregnancy followed by a terrible break up spiraling me into the role of single mother, through a misjudgment, third pregnancy, and termination, and then came the most blissful summer of my life, and now, this phase of lonliness, defeat, abandonment, and stupidity with this fourth~and final~pregnancy.
It should have left me jaded. I should hate you, with your apathy, for changing your mind from being in love to selfishness so quickly, or for lying, whichever the case may be. But I look at you and smile, hoping that someday I will be the stronger one, the one you miss, the one you pushed away, the one you never regret. And then you look up, your eyebrows arched in question, and my smile fades because I know I'm nothing to you, and I'm fooling myself to believe that I will ever be acceptable in your eyes. All I am is a vessel for this mistake that you are making the best of, because the guilt of pure abandonment would be too overwhelming. I think about what would have happened if I had ignored the signs of my daughter, of our daughter, and had lost her. Would you and I even be friends? My heart tells me the answer is no. He tolerates you, it says, because his obligation is in your belly.
I used to trust you. Anything you said, I would accept fully, but now I'm not so sure. My trust is beginning to evaporate, to dissapate into fear that it all sounds well and good now, you love her with every thread of your being, but what about when Tahiri gets here? What if she's not what you expected, if she's more like me, a hippy at heart, and your love turns to despise at what she will become? This isn't Californication, and you don't want me. You don't love me, her mother, the shell that carries her, so why would you love her, coming directly as a result of the twisted love you once felt for me, or the pity, or the "say anything to get in this girl's pants and then run away" plan gone terribly wrong? Apparently all I'm good for (along with the other girls my age) is fucking and impregnanting (which should be the name of my book, as opposed to Fucking and Punching). I guess good conversation and happiness are not even in the picture, and yes, that hurts. I always thought you were telling the truth when you said I was the sweetest person you'd ever met, either that or being sweet like me (as well as loving, thoughtful, and forgiving of your being) didn't really matter. Because as soon as I needed you, I proved too dramatic and my love, the only man I've truly loved, dropped me without regret, going back to old news and beginning another cycle of high hopes and heartbreak. But the last I had heard was "I just love you," whispered without my asking you, while you held me, finding the comfortable spot between my chin and my chest, not drunk, but then the apology, "I wish I'd never broken your heart."
I wish that myself, but it doesn't make it hurt less. Because it's impossible to forget you, to EVER forget you, because even as I write this, as I think of you with tears in my eyes, Tahiri, the love child you never initally wanted, kicks at both my bladder and ribs simultaneously. All I can hope is that you remain constant for her, for both of us, for I am attached to her, and thus to you, for the rest of her life. She is already my heart, and she tries to shield me from the pain her father brings. But will she have to forever? That, my love, is your choice.
I am stuck, between loving you and making the best of your love and affection for your daughter, hoping that some of it rubs off on me as her mother, and loathing you for putting me in this situation, for making me crazy, for not loving her enough while she's a part of me. I want to scream, "She's already here! She exists! Help me with her. Be her love by showing us love..." And then your arm grazes over my belly while getting comfortable on the sofa and she moves, taking my breath away, but you don't notice, and I don't want to bother you or push you too much.
"You never disappoint," you once said, but I should've known that would never last. I am a living disappointment. I've never been a satisfactory girlfriend, no matter how hard to tried to be the best. I tried too hard to please the one I was with, and I look beside me now and I know I'm still trying too hard. You don't trust me, and you don't want to talk to me, because I suppose you don't believe I can understand, or that I can contribute to the conversation at all.
Do you feel me slipping away, with the new knowledge that I don't matter and apparently never did? You were the only one who kept me afloat, who shielded me and believed in me, that I was capable of doing anything I set my mind to, when everyday I faced not so playful banter from my parents. But now, I wonder if I was wrong. You don't believe in me either, and it makes me feel more alone and transfixed on the possibility of what if. I stare at myself in the rear view mirror for a few moments, glancing back to find Jude fast asleep, worn out by play. At this moment, I wish I were younger, or older, either in my past or future, anywhere but here. I crave to be something in your eyes, something more than a good lay or an obligation.
Sometimes I think this is possible, and I'm hopeful that we're moving towards an even better team, although I know that during the best of times, we make a great team. I'm waiting to become my character, Karen, and try to find happiness while you find yourself.
Your daughter and her mother will always be here for you, to lean on, to heal you, to forgive you of all your weaknesses (the meaningless sex and drinking to name a couple, Moody) and faults. We don't see those, you see, we think you are perfect, and we crave your attention.
All our love,
Tyshani and Tahiri
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