Starting Life Over

The time following life with my mother started out a whole lot better, and I was finally allowed to be a child during my sixth grade year. I had spent far too long raising myself and being more of a parent to myself than enjoying my childhood. (I was a crappy parent to myself too though, always telling myself how worthless I was). During sixth grade I spent a lot of time with friends, both new and old. The neighborhood that I lived in was surrounded with people with whom I was friends with. All in all it was a pretty dang good year aside from the times that my mother would call. She rarely called, but once called to say that she was going to have the police come and get me to take me back. I told her that if she did so, I would make her life a living hell. Also at this time, I found out that my mother was still getting child support from my Dad because she had told him that she would turn him in for kidnapping if he didn't still fork over money.

I was disgusted with her. However, I was glad that I was able to finally have a childhood - aside from the few times that she stepped into my life. I met several people who are still in my life to this day. I met Sara and the Mantle family, Mark and the Montgomery family, Kenny, and Nathan; who all lived near enough to me for me to be able to hang out with them. Of course my neighbors - Josie, Patti, and Alex - were always around to hang out and play. We all spent a lot of time at my house due to my Dad and stepmother working nights. I didn't mind that they weren't home when I got home. They still provided all of the necessities, and there was always plenty of love received on the weekends. I became vaguely aware of just how much of an alcoholic my stepmother was, but she had not yet shown her real face. Yep, that was a pretty good year.

This little spurt of happiness could not last long enough. Each year after that, things just got more and more confusing. A lot of this dealt with how insecure I was (and still am). When I was twelve, I wrote a poem that explained my deepest feelings after I had moved in with my Dad and had some semblance of happiness. I could not understand why I was always constantly unhappy in the back of my mind. This is what the poem said:

Memories are all too often unfair
In your brain, they claw like a bear
You remember only the bad times, though rare
And you give your mind no energy to spare

Stop living in the past, try for the now
So many horrible memories to plow
You wish you could, but the answer is "how"?
Someday though, "you will" you vow

You hate the memories that hold you back
You think that your future is cold and black
You hold these thoughts tight, your mind's like a sack
You pin them on your brain with a stiff jagged tack

They're the only thing you live for
These memories you'd even die for
Why don't you just let the past soar?
Just what in the hell are these memories for?

I never gave that poem a name, but it was always kept in a journal. I did not write many poems, but even at the young age of 12, I knew that I had a problem. I put on a happy face when I was around others, (and there were definitely times that I genuinely WAS happy),  but I was always thinking in the back of my head that I was not wanted - that nobody really liked me, and I was just waiting for something to go wrong. I made a lot of mistakes in my life by letting these thoughts get to me. I hope that after writing all of these things out that I will be able to turn that around.