Mindless Ramblings of a Depressed Mind

Chapter 2: The Egg Donor

Here’s to my mother. The woman who wouldn’t put up with a man cheating on her, however, took joy in making her daughter feel like she could never amount to anything. My mother, how exactly shall I describe her? Half woman, half goat, one hundred percent demon? I was very sheltered growing up. I remember sitting in a restaurant with my mother, a place we went to often. Occasionally one cook would come sit with us and talk. Denise, sure that name works. Denise seemed to know everyone. I remember after this cook departed from our table. Denise quietly whispered to me “never date a Greek man, they are known to cheat” Me not knowing what anything other “Greek and Man” meant was just left perplexed. Also, jokes on her, according to my DNA test I have some Greek in me. Also, a lot of my childhood was spent in Greek restaurants.

When I was younger my mother told me also that all the bad things got from my dad and all the good things came from her. I never really knew what that meant until I was older and started calculating all the things I had been through. Growing up my mother and my grandmother owned a little beauty shop across the street from my elementary school. After school, I'd cross the street and hang out there until their days were over. It was kinda rad. The old ladies, which they catered to, would teach me things. Like needlepoint and crocheting. I also had a family in the neighborhood that would babysit me. They were the ideal family. Like the ones you see on TV. Mother and Father who loved each other dearly, two kids who were well behaved and treated me like one of them. It was literally the best part of my childhood. I’d cry when I had to leave, rather than when I was being dropped off.

I spent a lot of time in that home. I was taught to play piano, cook, bake, and play games. We had family dinners, where all the food was in the middle of the table and everyone had a place to sit. They’d hold hands and say grace, before eating. Everyone would talk about their day and their plans for the following day. They were the ones that taught me to ride a bike, the ones that taught me values, and how to be a good person. The reason I was there so much was because Denise was always at the bar. She’d pick me up reeking of Jack Daniels and cigarette smoke.

If it wasn’t for that family, I have no idea where I would be, or if I would even still be alive. There were times, they’d be on family vacations and my mother would just leave me alone at home. Thank goodness for frozen broccoli and cheese sauce. I don’t think its ever crossed her mind that something horrible could’ve happened to me. I mean after all she did once feed me an entire bottle of dimetapp. Then seemed surprised when I started vomiting. Denise always had a new boyfriend, even though she would preach how she would never get married again. {insert hard eye roll} As I got older, verbal and mental abuse became a daily thing. She’d make fun of me, tell me I was stupid, say things like “thank god there wasn’t two of you”, “I knew I should’ve had an abortion” Things no parent should ever say to their child.

I remember when I was in second grade, I was amused by ants. I loved how something so small could be so strong. I wrote a poem and showed it to her, and she just shrugged it off and told me to get lost. The next day, I went to school and showed my teacher. My teacher called my mother and asked her, had I written the poem by myself. My mother was confused and told her that I had shown her something and she didn’t have much time. My teacher asked permission to have it published. Denise agreed. I wish I knew where I could find that publication. I don’t even know where to start looking. I know this is a bit of a bumpy ride, but we’re getting closer.