An Introduction To An Introduction

Dear Diary,

LOL! Let me just first start out by apologizing. You know, I have been apologizing my entire life, not an exaggeration! I don't need to apologize, I need to STOP apologizing! I have gotten so good at turning everything into being my fault I don't even realize I am doing it anymore. Let's not start here in the middle, is 34 middle aged? Side bar, technically 50ish is middle aged now because, aren't people living till 100? Jeez, I have so much more time, it feels so daunting. That feeling is only temporary, I'm going through a thing. SHHH, Let me feel depressed while I work through it all with you.

So no, let's not start at 34, Let's get to know me and see how the story unfolds together. I was born in 1988, raised in the 90's, so you know my music taste is on point! It's really not though, I'm 34 and my favorite musician, still living, is Brandi Carlile. Ugh, That girl is amazing! She's not the part of my music taste that gets me weird looks. lol Now outside of Brandi and the awesome 90's music I grew up with, my real passion lays with the oldies. I am talking 50's, 60's, 70's, I'll even do 40's sometimes, watch out ladies! Don't really watch out though, I don't want to be with an old man, even if money is involved. Louis Prima, hands down my favorite. My top 5 favorites, Louis Prima, Roger Miller, Nina Simone, Ruth Brown, and of course Sinatra because my grandpa Frank loved him.

My childhood wasn't always the best, most days felt like a battle. I grew up thinking everyone's family, everyone's childhood was like mine. The more I talked to my classmates the more I just wanted to pretend I was normal and had a normal home life and I was just boring old me. Instead, I remember being seven years old and dancing to Blue Moon like I was hearing it live for the first time. I loved being alone as a kid, when I was alone no one was yelling at me, or making me feel uncomfortable about myself or how my body looked. I could breath when I was alone. But lets take it back even further. I was born with very severe eczema. My mother told me that the doctors advised they could give me a steroid shot, her words not mine lol, and it would take my eczema away. EXCEPT! I would never be able to have children. Now, I am happy she was smart enough to say no as, we now know, that is not a true statement, as eczema is incurable. I was allergic to everything, almost. All of my childhood photos, up until my early 20's, you can see my eczema. You can also see the decline as I aged and started to understand my disease.

As a kid I always had bright red circles around my eyes. My mom and step father would call me racoon as a nickname, because of it. Big red circles against a very pale skin tone. As I grew that nickname turned to Monk. Short for monkey because I always wanted a monkey, I still do by the way. For all you people out there I still want a Capuchin Monkey. The eczema wasn't just red circles around my eyes though. It was red blotches all over my arms, torso, and legs. It was dandruff with every season change. It was painful and unforgiving at times. I cried a lot because sometimes it hurt to bend my knees because the backs were so raw. I remember waking up in the morning at 7 years old and slowly stretching my leg out to break the scab that formed overnight. My eyes would tear up, I'd hold on to the side railing of my bunk bed and clench as it ripped and bled open. School wasn't any easier with it and my mom, unintentionally, made me feel uncomfortable about how I looked, we'll get into that later.

Let's bring it back farther, my oldest childhood memory was when I 4 years old, right before my 5th birthday. I can remember my mother and step father (I was raised to believe he was my biological father) arguing in their bedroom. I was playing on the kitchen floor. I can remember my step father coming out of the bedroom and looking at me angry. He looked down and said to me, "It's all your fucking fault", then stormed out. I remember not understanding what I did wrong at 4. That would be a question that will go unanswered up until the age of 16, when it would come to light exactly why it was my fault. We lived in a small one bedroom house in a small town on the East Coast. My older sister and I had bunk beds against one wall in our parents bedroom but we slept on the couches in the living room. I remember when I was 6, my parents got into one of their famous arguments. My mother took me and my sister into the bedroom. It didn't lock so my mother had her body up against the door holding it shut as my step father was on the other side banging with all his might! I remember the sound of the screams but not the words being said. I remember not feeling scared but sad, I had to go to the bathroom. My sister and I just stood there, waiting for him to leave. He never hit her, I do just want to clarify that. They fought like hell on wheels almost every day, but he never hit her. He would always just scream, get in your face, and then run away. So there we are, existing amongst the chaos and I have to pee, so I told my mom. She handed me a bucket and told me to pee in that because we couldn't leave the room. I wasn't scared though. I just took the bucket and peed in it. Should it bother me that I wasn't scared in that moment, I just accepted that as a normal life, at such a young age?

I remember being happier in that little house, in the little town. Maybe I only remember that as a happier time because I was young and don't remember all the bad parts, but happy is what I remember most about that house. I do remember picking up my Great Great Grandmother from her nursing home so she could come to my 5th birthday party. Remember how popular trolls were in the 90's? Yeah, I asked my Great Great Grandmother to get me one. She delivered the way all grandmothers do, with a knock off! It was hideous and not what I wanted but I loved it so much! I wish I still had it. It was like a stuffed animal troll, made out of that terrible windbreaker material. I can hear it just by typing it, SWOOSH SWOOSH SWOOSH. With bright orange hair popping out ot its head, jeez I loved that. If I had it right now I'd snuggle it! I had a Barney Party. I loved Barney so much. He was always so happy, I could escape into that show as a kid. Escape all the yelling and fake happy moments. I loved Barney. We had a man in a Barney costume show up and Barney birthday hats. Barney everything! We danced and had a big bbq, it was a great time. In that little house, in that little town, on the East Coast. After the party was over, Barney went inside, to of course change out of that hot sweaty suit. From the kitchen I could see him in the living room, and I watched as the female assistant unzipped the back of the costume. Then a guy came out, she turned, saw me, and closed the door. It didn't bother me though, I didn't cry or get upset. I just accepted it as a normal thing.

She passed away that year. She passed away sitting upright in her rocking chair. I would later read, I believe in Buddhism, it is believed that when you pass away sitting in an upright position, you have reached spiritual enlightenment. I could be wrong, please don't judge me or quote me! I wasn't allowed to attend the funeral, they said I was too young to understand. They did bring me to her nursing home apartment to clean it out though. You know, that's not confusing, Oh hey, where'd the lady who lived here go, mom? No one in my family took the time to tell me what happened to her. She was just gone. I remember standing in the hallway as all the aunts and cousins that were old enough, riffled through her stuff. Two of my Great Great Grandmother's friends were in the hall with me. One lady bent down and said to me, "I opened her door to get her for breakfast. When I looked at her in her chair, a big bright light engulfed her and carried her to heaven."

Now, I know she was just being old and weird, but lady please get away from my 5 year old self! Oh there are ghosts in my story, ghosts in my story like a mother fucker. This old lady unknowingly implanted a seed in my 5 year old little mind that there was a whole world out there I needed to explore and research! Still, weird old lady stay away from my 5 year old self and thank you for adding a little more weird to my already weird self. I really do appreciate it. I started kindergarten, then first grade. We moved a few towns over in the middle of first grade, I struggled terribly with it. I was a relatively happy kid, outside of the arguments that happened at home, and before I could really understand the world. I was relatively happy. Then I started to feel bad about myself and I didn't know how to communicate that to my mother at such a young age. Partly because, she was the one who made me feel bad about myself. My mother was not the most loving mother. She had her moments, she showed affection when strangers were around, but at home she was very cold. We snuggled when company was over, we said I love you's when friends were around but never at home. My mother was a big phone talker. When my sister and I were young, our mother didn't work. My Grandpa Frank paid our rent, my step father worked full time, and my mother stayed home with the kids. She sat at the kitchen table talking on the phone and chain smoking. Sometimes aunts or friends would come over, most days it was her on the phone with, her best friend. We'll call her My Aunt J. My mother would talk in great detail with my Aunt J about how sorry she felt for me. She would tell her how hard my life will be because of my eczema. How hard it will be for me to date. That she was scared the kids would make fun of me. That she was sad that I couldn't be around animals even though I loved them so much. How she cringes when she puts the creams on my breakouts because of how painful it must be. It was very painful. I was born in the 80's, we still don't really know what we're doing, but we're getting better! Laugh with me please, yes it was painful, but I processed these bad memories a long time ago. As messed up as it is, that was my mother's way of communicating. Yes, it fucked me up hearing her talk about me like that. I wore pants and long sleeve shirts all year round just to hide my eczema from my mom so she wouldn't talk about it. I dressed that way up until I was 32 years old. I remember how my skin would crawl going to the Dermatologist. I'd pull my sleeves up, roll my pants up and close my eyes and just wait for it. Right on time my mother would clench her teeth, pull her lips back, and make a hiss sound as she gasped inwards. Followed with a smack of the tongue to the roof of her mouth. Those noises would cut through me like a knife. Here is my own mother who can't even bare to look at me, how can I expect anyone else to? I'm turning 34 soon and I just started wearing shorts a year ago, that's how long it took! And I still have body dysmorphia because of it. I understand now it was her way of telling me she cared, you can hate me for making an excuse all you want. I found a way to process, forgive, and let go of a very traumatic experience I delt with most of my life. I no longer live with anger towards my mother. Trust me we had a rough ride and it never got better. I, by choice, do not have a relationship with her but I do wish her well. You'll learn more about her in entries to come. For now, if you walk away with anything, walk away with this. If I could go back and do any of these memories over, I wouldn't change a thing. I like the person I am today even though I'm a little mad at myself right now. I still like who I am underneath it all. I am the person I am today because of what I learned from these memories, these interactions. I believe that our only purpose as humans in life, is to learn. So don't be afraid to revisit your past, don't be afraid to understand why you are who you are. Some of the most valuable lessons you can learn, are from experiences you've already had.

Until We Meet Again.