The very beginning I do not recall. I feel the remnants of the memories of not being alone. I am a twin. He was taken away when we were seven. We have an older brother. He is the only one that remained with our mother. I love both of my brothers more than they know and I am so proud of them and what they’ve accomplished. We were poor. We are all disabled. I had an imaginary family with an imaginary home. I remember it still to this day. I would stay up at night, under my blanket, and daydream about my secret life – imagining eating turkey dinners. I could taste it as my stomach rumbled – keeping me from falling asleep. My abusive father was gone by the time I was nine. He did not always pay child support. We did not always have electricity and we seldom had enough to eat. He did take us out, though, later on. My mother and I did not get along. We did when I was a toddler – I vaguely remember some bonding moments. I was never given a set of keys to my home and she kicked me out regularly. I moved in with my father when I was 11 – until I entered a group home at 14 after spending time in shelters and on the street, hiding for my own safety. I was a high-achieving, talented child with many accolades and awards. From where the motivation came, I can not say; possibly to feel a sense of control over my life, to aim for better things, the thought that one day I may learn what happiness feels like. The early years that I do remember were terrifying, violent, unstable, lonely. Middle childhood up until early adulthood seemed like an endless stream of suicidal ideations and assaults; verbal, physical, sexual. I almost died when I was twenty. I moved to another state. Despite everything, I had attended the single top high school in the country, skipped a grade, and earned a MS Ed. in Psychology. It gave me insight. It made me feel hopeless. Although I found love in high school with someone amazing, I sabotaged it and I have been paying karmically ever since. People are programmed to be self-serving; self-persevering. I learned what depressive realism is. My 20s consisted of a string of toxic relationships. Got into a bad car accident. Forever disabled. I spent my 30s in complete solitude. I wanted a family. I wanted love. I could have – should have – died.
For what did I survive?
This is my story. Succinct.
© 2020 RB
A Blemish is a Blunder 