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Hmmm, so I read someone else’s post and it made my brain think. It did what it always does. 

People think I’m nice for some reason. Probably because I know better than to actually speak my mind in public or even private without severe editing skills. 

I had kids. I had them very early on the border of teenage-hood. In fact I had my first child when I was 19. I was pregnant when I was 15 or 16 I can’t remember. Let’s say 16. I hated kids. I hated kids when I was a kid. Do I still hate kids? That’s for me to know and you to not find out. 

Why did I have children? F^ck if I know. I wanted one though. And I wanted one with the guy I got pregnant with the second time. Yes, I had sex with more than 10 guys but less than 20. Does that make me a wh0re? I really didn’t care. I didn’t feel sexy enough to consider myself a wh0re. If that doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t have to. That was the problem with my sexual identity. I had no clue what I wanted I just knew I was working for a normal appearance. And my idea of normal was skewed. 

I needed to feel wanted or needed or desired or owned or something more than the neglected childhood feelings I had grown up with. My parents were educated. They were not physically abusive. They leaned the other way. Neither had brothers or sisters. They had no clue how to be parents. They had no experiences with siblings. They had no business having more than one kid. I was lucky number 2. 2 girls, 2 boys made an even half dozen of a family. My father was an alcoholic, a functioning one. He could control it to a certain degree. He didn’t drink on the job. So the kids in his class were luckier than my siblings and I. I believe that he was bipolar also. He was paranoid and pissy and all sorts of f-ed up. I feared him most of my childhood until I hated him from adolescence on. Probably because I was afraid I would be as big an @sshole as I saw him to be. Realize that my siblings didn’t all have the same opinion. It’s coming out now that my father died a few weeks ago. It doesn’t bother me so much now. I did enough for him to douse guilt and regret with a good dose of gasoline and set it off with self righteous passion thankyouverymuch. 

So I had the kid. And I made my mind look at him and say to my psyche that this human never did me wrong. I would protect him from the sh!t that had happened to me all his life. Realize that I had very little training for life in a family. I had no aunts, uncles or cousins. Our family of six only extended to my 3 surviving grand parents. So I was on my own. 

The kid’s father, honestly I loved his looks. He was not a bright guy. In fact he probably had fetal alcohol syndrome as well as a few other problems that mixed with alcoholism and drug addiction. He was charming. He could make me laugh. That wasn’t enough when I was working 3 jobs and he was laying in bed drunk and the baby was laying in his own filth. So I warned him. Then I left. I took the baby. I had no clue what I was doing but I knew what I didn’t want. And booze was one thing that wasn’t going to be a constant in my household after that. 

Well that’s maybe a simplified version of a part of my life. I’ll write what happened to pregnancy 1 another time because it solidified my need to control my own body and my desire for privacy as well as my belief that I wasn’t going to have some baby-daddy’s child.


This is the blog entry that “inspired” me to write this entry down. 


Depression and Motherhood: This is My Truth. on W.T.F.  words. thoughts. feelings.