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I enjoy writing because I have many stories to tell and lots to say and want to share that with the world. Please enjoy it with me.
Childhood
Jul 15, 2019 4 years agoChildhood. It's a delicate word that holds so much meaning. Childhood is a word representative of innocence and youth. For me, it's representative of something I never got to properly have. My mother had me at age nineteen and was shoved into a toxic, abusive relationship with the man I grew up calling my father. She was young and hurt and stressed, and to cope she turned to alcohol. I was forced to see two sides of the woman who raised me; the beautiful, radiant side that was a loving mother, and the mean, sad side that was a young girl forced to see her youth vanish right before her eyes. In turn, my innocence vanished. My days were filled with the loving arms of my grandmother, whose house I went to while my mother was at work. My nights were filled with my hands over the covers, trying to tune out the sound of my mother and father arguing from the wall right beside my bed. I was scared but strong, and it was the only life I knew, so I pushed through. School made it worse. I was poor growing up, as my father was never able to hold down a job and any money we did have was spent on food or alcohol for my mother, who turned to drugs around that time as well, so that's another thing added to the list of expenses. I was bullied for my ripped, stained pants and baggy, old shirts, given to me by my older cousin, who had since started wearing different uniforms and had her old ones to pass along. Alongside my clothes, I had red hair and that warranted harassment too. It was long and hard and one of the worst times of my life. That was, until high school. My parents had since divorced and I was under the impression my mom had stopped drinking, but I was proven long. She picked me up from that same cousin's house and was acting strange. It became clear to me what was happening when she swerved off the road and almost hit other cars, nearly killing us both. The police were called and she was taken to jail, where she stayed for three months, while I stayed with my grandma. She was the best role model in my life but she was getting older and couldn't keep taking care of me. My mom came back and sobered up for good, but our relationship was rocky. I tried, for once, to be a normal kid but, at that time, it felt ridiculous and selfish to value childish things like school dances and high school boyfriends. So, I focused on my grades. Over time, my mom and I got close, we got better. I got amazing grades. I even got a boyfriend. Everything was well. Until grandma passed. It was sudden. A heart attack we were told. My mom was crushed and so was I. We both were raised by her and she was the kindest, most generous person we had ever known. But grandma was always one for making things better and she wasn't going to go out without doing it one last time. Her passing brought me and my mom closer together. We were there for one another. We both felt the same pain and finally came to an understanding. I no longer resented her. She no longer felt judged by me. As we sat together in my grandmother's house, holding one another and crying on the floor, we understood one another for the first time in forever. We understood we had both undergone a great loss. Not only of my grandmother but of that delicate, meaningful word; Childhood.
