Looking back, I really don’t remember much things of my past. I have very vague memories. These are so distant that you can barely even realize they are there; easily confusing them with long forgotten dreams, or nightmares. The little I remember, sadly, isn’t very pleasant because although it doesn’t step me with pain, it does remind me of the pain I caused. Those memories haunt me, and make me question myself a lot, but that’s okay. Some lessons, you just have to learn the hard way. When I was, for obvious reasons, a lot younger, my life was centered around my mom. Being a single parent, she had to work from literally dusk to dawn. We would wake up ar three a.m., she would get ready for work, I would fix my school uniform into a bag and
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Since I only mentioned my mom, other kids began to ask me about my dad. I never knew what to say, I couldn’t lie because honestly I would have taken me months to even have though of one. To this day I am a horrible lier. So I would say the truth: I didn’t know anything about my dad. Even though I was teased about it for years, I never told my mom. It wasn’t until I saw my stepdad carry my brother that I asked my mom if I had one. Now my mother has always been very impatient, and very restricted, so when I asked she would only answer the basic yes or no questions. When I wanted to know something specific like how did he look like, or what was he like, she would always lead me to believe that he did care about me so I shouldn’t care for him. I do have to admit, it hurt, a lot more than I could ever tell my mom. But that didn’t stop me, I was like that annoying, buzzing fly near your ear when your trying to sleep. Just when you think got rid of me, you hear it! “Buzzzz…. Buzzzz”. It got to the point where my mom would almost always be the color of tomatoes. Bright red, of pure annoyance. A teacher saw me crying one day at school, and I explained what was going one to her and she said, “maybe it still hurts her. Maybe she’s just not ready yet.” Or something along those lines, because just the thought about hurting my mom …show more content…
It is not one of a broken bone, but of a broken heart. It is not one created by surgeons, for they couldn’t do anything for me, but pray. It may sound silly but, my mom was and is everything to me, the fact that she lied about so many things hurt. The pain was so excruciating, because it was from someone I thought would take a bullet for me, rather than be the one shooting it. It hurts more now, to think that I hurt her with equal force. I couldn’t pick a side, and I couldn’t help bring them peace. So after years of arguing I decided that I didn’t want to know what had happened. Because for a problem in a relationship to occur, there are two people at fault. They shattered an armor that I thought kept me safe. I had to be broken to pieces, before I could be molded into something better. I had to learn that I was never alone. Shields, body armor, and vests don’t properly work, that’s why I was in a locker full of hurt. I had to accept that my mom wasn’t perfect, neither was my dad, much less I. That perhaps I do not have the deepest scare, that there are people who suffered, not the same thing, but suffered nonetheless. That God never left me alone, not once in my life. Everyone in this world wants love, nobody wants pain; but we have to remember you can’t have a rainbow, without a little
Since I only mentioned my mom, other kids began to ask me about my dad. I never knew what to say, I couldn’t lie because honestly I would have taken me months to even have though of one. To this day I am a horrible lier. So I would say the truth: I didn’t know anything about my dad. Even though I was teased about it for years, I never told my mom. It wasn’t until I saw my stepdad carry my brother that I asked my mom if I had one. Now my mother has always been very impatient, and very restricted, so when I asked she would only answer the basic yes or no questions. When I wanted to know something specific like how did he look like, or what was he like, she would always lead me to believe that he did care about me so I shouldn’t care for him. I do have to admit, it hurt, a lot more than I could ever tell my mom. But that didn’t stop me, I was like that annoying, buzzing fly near your ear when your trying to sleep. Just when you think got rid of me, you hear it! “Buzzzz…. Buzzzz”. It got to the point where my mom would almost always be the color of tomatoes. Bright red, of pure annoyance. A teacher saw me crying one day at school, and I explained what was going one to her and she said, “maybe it still hurts her. Maybe she’s just not ready yet.” Or something along those lines, because just the thought about hurting my mom …show more content…
It is not one of a broken bone, but of a broken heart. It is not one created by surgeons, for they couldn’t do anything for me, but pray. It may sound silly but, my mom was and is everything to me, the fact that she lied about so many things hurt. The pain was so excruciating, because it was from someone I thought would take a bullet for me, rather than be the one shooting it. It hurts more now, to think that I hurt her with equal force. I couldn’t pick a side, and I couldn’t help bring them peace. So after years of arguing I decided that I didn’t want to know what had happened. Because for a problem in a relationship to occur, there are two people at fault. They shattered an armor that I thought kept me safe. I had to be broken to pieces, before I could be molded into something better. I had to learn that I was never alone. Shields, body armor, and vests don’t properly work, that’s why I was in a locker full of hurt. I had to accept that my mom wasn’t perfect, neither was my dad, much less I. That perhaps I do not have the deepest scare, that there are people who suffered, not the same thing, but suffered nonetheless. That God never left me alone, not once in my life. Everyone in this world wants love, nobody wants pain; but we have to remember you can’t have a rainbow, without a little