Well, I used to blog on Myspace. And now I have switched over to Facebook, which does not have a blogging capability. My oldest child (Paige) who is actually not my child suggest I start blogging. So, here I go. Today I went to this "boot camp" type of a workout at the YMCA, I have been frequenting the Y quite a lot lately, some of it is do to my trying to loose weight, part of it is to clear my head, but today I thought about, side note it's 11:11. I obsess over number in the clock, 11:11, 3:33 and 12:34 are the one that usually catch my eye, it's almost as though they come more than twice a day. So back to my story, I think about my childhood and being overweight when I exercise, I do not know why, I think about my daughter, Alex, and her weight, it's like I am trying to prevent her from becoming me, she once said to me, "when I get fat I can just have surgery like you" ( I had a gastric bypass a few years back) Anyhow, I thought about 1 specific incident when I was nine. At the time my mother was a drug dealer (speed) and there was a guy, he was called Punk. I never liked him, he was an asshole. So on a day, It seems like it was a week day, like a Wednesday maybe. He was ALWAYS over at our house, buying and doing drugs, which I now know, at the time I just suspected. My mother had been a street pharmacist for years at this point. They (My mom and Punk) were in the bathroom for what seemed like forever, and I kept banging on the door and asking my mother to come out, that my brothers (Jansen, who was 8 at the time Jacob, who was only a year old were hungry) She just kept telling me to get away from the door, she would be out soon. Finally, Punk emerged, and closed the door quickly. He gave me a dirty look. He said, "why do you have to sit there all fuckin' day begging for food?" Then my mom came out of the bathroom. I told punk to" shut-up, I was talking to my mom" He then said "you're a fat little bitch" I looked at my mother. I said nothing, I just looked at her with eyes that wanted her to say something, eyes that longed for a mother who would stick up for me. Eyes that wanted the woman who grew me inside of her body to choose me once, for one time in her whole life, pick me, not some passing scumbag. But this is what I heard. "What do you want me to say, you are fat." This changed my life. It changed me. I walked away from her and him, I went into my bedroom, which was filled with piles of dirty clothes everywhere. She never cleaned. I sat in my room and I thought about how as far back as I could remember I was always 4th or 5th. Maybe even lower on the list than that. When I was 5. My mom had a New Years Eve party. I used to sit in the front yard and eat sour grass during the day when I was playing. Well I was allergic to the sour grass. I knew I was allergic, I ate it all the time, ans had gotten hives and would itch, but they would go away. So anyhow, my mother, who had a lot of friends invited all these people over, I remember her and some other blonde decorating the house. We lived at my grandmothers house in San Dimas at the time, it was a tri-story, I picked a bunch of the grass and took it up stares since I would be staying up there in my room for the night. I proceeded to eat lots, and lots of sour grass. I went down stairs a couple times to tell my mother I was getting a lot of bumps on me. She told me to go back up stairs and lay down, I came down a final time and told her I could breathe, I was dying, she told me to knock it off and told me to go talk to granny, who was on the bottom level of the house. So I went to her, she took a look at me and rushed to San Dimas hospital, where I ended up getting a shot because I was going into anaphylactic shock. Again, I felt angry toward her. My grandmother, who is just as screw-up as my mom, only she and I get along slightly better, and she is at least functional in life. A few weeks later I lost my first tooth, I was in the bathroom, and it was hanging by a thread, I twisted it around and out it came I was so excited! I went to show my mother, and she was on the phone, she just kinda waved me away. So I went and showed my granny. I have never felt loved by my mother. Not ever. This has damaged me in a way, maybe good, but also bad. I can tell you that when I was in school, I would always ask my teachers for help, even when I didn't need it, just so I could have a a woman sit next to me and talk very quietly by my ear and it felt like love to me.
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