I'm Not F*King Kidding you.

Then there is mom..and I use the term loosely. A drug addict, emotionally abusive social worker who took her child to hang out with drug dealers and strippers while she was working for the military and having sex with her coworkers. Mom has so much trauma it is amazing I was born. One of 9 kids, born to different fathers (Mom, Ronnie, and Terry had one dad, Kenny (who committed suicide or so I was told years ago), Cheryl and her brother I don't even know his name because they lived with their father I think in Vegas, Linda whose father my grandmother never married because he was married, and there is another two in there somewhere but my mother wasn't close to her family left home at 17 after running away and begging CPS to put her in foster care because my grandmother and had so many men coming in and out of the house and was married to times, working as a bartender and cleaning a motel. She was never a part of my life, nor were the aunts, uncles, and cousins for the most part. Only one went to college besides my mother, my aunt Linda is a teacher and the last I knew was married to Gene since she was 15 or 16. 

The cousins Alix and Rikki belong to Linda, Rhonda, Ronnie's daughter had a baby at 18 with a 16-year-old, I heard she married someone in the military a  decade ago, Travis and Misty belong to Terry before he passed away after spending years in a wheelchair with arthritis in Arkansas in poverty. I am sure there are others but I don't know who or who they belong to. I could tell you about my ex-boyfriend's Superman tattoo on his upper arm who I haven't seen since 2015, who is a police officer who didn't care I had been beaten up by my boyfriend in May  2019 when I called him from a restaurant and a medical hospital when I was brought in for severe edema caused by the Pooler PD but my family was so not close the only memory I have of them is my uncle Gene, a landscaper at the community college took me out to lunch when I graduated high school because my mother didn't care, seeing one of my cousins' first apartment when she went to college, I think it was Alix who I was told became agoraphobic, worked from home for a bank and married a banker but I haven't seen her since she was starting college. Then there are at least three marriages..possibly four. My sperm donor swears my mom Connie Lantz was married before him at 18, then to him at 23 when she graduated from NAU, then after him to Corey Johnson, she made various accusations about but would visit me when I was at my sperm donors house in Winslow as a kid. The last time I spoke to him was when I was 18 after I had been released from the hospital after a car accident and found out the egg donor had a girlfriend. Then there was the married doctor mom called his 16-year-old drunk on tequila and told she was having an affair with his father, the "female friends" like strippers names Augie who threatened to kill me if I called the police after she was going to hit me, the men who watched her lock me out of the house when I was in PJs because she was chasing me through the house trying hit me and I had to have my boyfriend come get me because it was December and cold. There was Albert, one of my heroes an electrical engineer we never lived with who I would go visit in Texas in the summer. The last time I saw my egg donor was before 2011, I can't tell you anything we did together that didn't end in her either putting me down or blaming me for her bad behavior. The last time I saw her I was moving to a smaller apartment from my beautiful gated community because working as a probation officer I could no longer afford $1000 a month and she was helping me move, only to force me to buy her and her girlfriend food and drinks. The last time I talked to her she just decided not to ever talk to me in 2008, and then a few years later, I found out my grandmother had died when I Googled her phone number and got her obituary. I sent her an email in 2012 before I moved to GA because I wanted to see her, but she refused. When my beloved grandfather died in late 2013, I sent her an email, and her response was essential "I am going to the funeral and you don't get to go, this was my father's father who she was always borrowing thousands of dollars from and not repaying. There hasn't been a conversation since then by her choice. Of everything I had taken from me by my former probationer's mother, all that had from her was old butcher knives, cutting boards, pans,  two cherished Winnie the Pooh locket boxes, and her engagement ring from my sperm donor. When God gave me parents, we got mismatched.