The Foundation.

I come from a long line of trauma. Literally, everyone in my family on both sides has a history of some kind of mental illness/addiction or traumatic experiences. The worst things that you can possibly think of have occurred in my family. That being said, it shouldn't come as a surprise that I was born not only into, but from trauma. From the things I have been told, I wasn't necessarily wanted. I was definitely an accident and considering my parents were involved in a highly toxic relationship, I doubt it was a fitting time for me to be conceived. My mother and father were the epitome of toxic. They engaged in domestic violence with my father almost killing my mother on different occasions. My mother was an enabler and extremely co-dependent. She met him while he was in jail and she was visiting another inmate sooo I guess none of us should be shocked at what their relationship became lol. Anywho, my mom's pregnancy was difficult. I survived a car crash, absorbing a twin, and a multitude of other issues. For whatever reason, I was meant to be on this damn planet. So started my lifelong resilience and ability to keep on going no matter how much is thrown at me (note: this is not always a good thing and will be addressed throughout this blog). My parents were fucked up. They had extreme trauma all of their lives that they never dealt with and thus passed on all kinds of fucked up shit to us. They had no idea what they were doing and I do believe they tried their best, but they just did not know how to be parents. Some of my earliest and only memories of being a kid are all kinds of fucked up. My parents sold weed during a time that it was very dangerous.  

One of the first memories that I have is of a fourth of July celebration. I remember my dad taking us all out in his blazer and setting off illegal fireworks. I got an ember in my eye and I remember him being angry that we had to leave. I remember a lot of yelling, screaming, and fear. We were always afraid of dad and what was coming. He slashed our tires, broke into our home, and overall I was petrified of him. He acted like a big kid though when he was around and I do remember him eating a lot of ice cream and liking Sprite/sherbet floats. I wish I could say I remember more of him, but I don't. I have hardly any memories and can't for the life of me remember his voice or the way he smelled.

Dad was murdered in our home when I was 4. I have written about this incident briefly but only once for a college class have I began to even touch on the severity of the incident. I will try to do so now but I am not sure that words can fully express the gravity of it all and the lifelong impact it has had on me and my mom and sister. Here is what I remember happening that night and the following days:

My parents were split up. Dad came over to our house like he did usually to help out or visit. I remember going to bed and be awoken by a lot of yelling. Dad was loud and there was always people in our house due to them selling drugs, so this wasn't unusual. I remember him yelling at the dogs and just a lot of commotion. I fell back asleep. I was again awoken sometime later to my sister telling me to cover myself with a blanket and to be very still and quiet. She told me to pretend I was sleeping. I remember seeing our Little Mermaid light shining its shadows on the wall and laying under the covers feeling a different fear than I was used to. The night is a blur. I think I remember being able to see through the blanket a man possibly with a mask pop his head into our room and look around. Memories as we know can be fake or changed, so I am not sure if this actually happened. I do vividly remember a police officer carrying me in my blanket out of the house and there being broken glass on the floor. I could see blood out of the corner of my eye in the kitchen area on the left and there were a lot of people around. I think I remember seeing the ambulance leave, but again not sure if I actually witnessed it. We were handed off to a babysitter and went home with her. I don't remember seeing my mom or any other family members that night. The next day, we were taken to my dad's duplex. All of my family was there and we were walked to the back room where my mom was sitting on a bed and crying. We were told my dad was dead. I would later on understand that he had been shot in the back during a home invasion attempt. My dad was a fighter that never backed down from a challenge and while I would like to believe he was trying to protect us, part of me feels like it was his own ego that got in the way and what lead to him being killed. I was confused by what everything meant and did not understand why everyone was crying. I remember the funeral and me running around happy to see all of my family, but not understanding what was happening.

My mother did take us to counseling after my dad's death but I don't remember much other than it being at a woman's home and playing Hungry Hungry Hippo. What followed is a blur of a few years. My mom almost immediately got into another relationship with what would become my step dad and the man who helped raise me ( I am using this term lightly). 

I think this post is pretty long and I don't want to write on and on, so I think I am going to make a part 2 to this to continue on with my early years.