The Influence Of Love In My Life
My maternal grandfather never respected my dad. That is until he started making the same about of money as he did. He was a mean man, but for some reason, he liked me a lot. He bought me a piggy bank once. My sister Leigh Anne crushed into pieces and took all my old pennies. She was always finding and stealing my money. She drank even back then.
Grampa told me a story …show more content…
She was never diagnosed, but it was pretty obvious she had issues. My mom never showed much emotion. She didn’t like the use of the words 'hate ' and 'love '. She said hate was a strong word and no one should hate. She also insisted that I didn 't know what love was. Of course, I didn’t know what love was I 'd never experienced a healthy relationship in my life. Beside the fact, love was insignificant in that household.
I don’t think my mom hated me, but she was resentful. When I began to act out (trying to stand up for myself) she let me know she wanted an abortion when she got pregnant with me. She did not want another child. She would have had an abortion, but they were illegal at the time. She was afraid she’d succumb to deteriorating health problems. Most doctors that were performing illegal abortions were not reliable.
She complained that she could have traveled in her life but, instead she had to deal with me and my problems. So my guilty conscience was conceived. Being born when I wasn’t wanted was, of course, my …show more content…
My dad 's relatives all hated me from my teenage years on. My mom liked to get on the phone and talk about me. She would inform everyone every time I ‘ran away’. Let’s not forget my drug problem the marijuana. She made a big deal about it and accused me of doing another drug. She came to refer to any issue I had as somehow a link to my ‘drug problems’. I had my moments with drugs but I never went looking for them. If they were there I’d do it. I decided at an early age not to let things control me. Although I do have a hell of a time with cigarettes.
I was angry and didn’t hide it. I’ve heard that at the core of anger is deep sadness and I believe this. I decided to do what I wanted when I wanted to do it. I was in trouble no matter I did or didn’t do so what difference did it make? After they cut off my shirt, I gave up any hope of having a normal childhood. My sisters got to use the cars and go out with their friends. They treated me like a stranger who you should approach with caution at all costs. You never know when I might snap. Not to mention how they would provoke