( … continued from part one)
… When my son was 6 years old, I left his father. My daughter had been married for a few months when I finally left him for good. I had left many times before that but I always returned soon thereafter. I finally ended up staying in a domestic violence safe house for a few months in a nearby town (I never went back after that), trying to get my life back on track. Alhough I don’t think it had really ever been on track in the first place.
My daughter had given birth to my grandson three months after I had given birth to her brother. They came to visit us in the DV safe house and we were very close at this time in my life.
I still have problems remembering the exact timeline of events that transpired after I left the safe house.
I left the safe house after being in the safe house approximately six months, I believe, with my precious young son in tow and I returned sadly, once again to my mother’s house.
My mother wouldn’t allow me to move my young son in with us. This was one of her favorite ways of belittling me, by not allowing my son in her home. In her mind he was just like me and she couldn’t be bothered. I was stuck and saw no other choice but to let him stay with his Dad but I ached for him daily.
She will never know the amazing person she missed out on by dismissing her grandson from her life. He went to his dad’s to live with him and his sister on his dad’s side around 20 minutes away.
Although I missed him horribly, it’s better that he was never around my mother at all. She’d never really had anything to do with him anyway, so it was no loss for him. However, it almost breaks me when I think of that precious little boy who must have been so scared and missing his mama.
My mother couldn’t have cared less where my son was because she was to focused on being “large” in my daughter’s life so my daughter couldn’t “see”me.
Oh God, my heart hurts writing this…
My distorted and clouded brain made the life changing decision one day to go to our closest town. I just never went back to my mother’s until years later. I had run away, although it wasn’t planned. It was a stupid and impulsive decision (another symptom of adult ADHD) Impulsive actions like that are never very smart ideas but I had no social skills to realize how wrong it actually was. Now, when I left for town that way, I had no idea what I planned on doing, all I can remember was I had to get away from my mother. That was my main focus and I hadn’t thought passed that. I would regret that for a very long time.
I was clueless of the negative impact that impulsive decision would have on our future.
I was now officially homeless and I was very afraid, wondering what I had gotten myself into. I migrated to the “hood” and I adapted to street life rapidly because that was a necessity if you wanted to survive. I was going on fumes, not stopping to think about anything. I was afraid if I did, I would break down and cry and I already could tell you didn’t let the streets see you cry. That became habit for the next several years.
I’m not going to go into detail about my life on the streets (another blog post for another time) just suffice it to say that once on the street, I became addicted to crack cocaine within the first month. It was to become an incredibly hard life for me and that was even more proof that the impulsive decision I made to go to town that day was the wrong one, but I never guessed it would lead me straight into the flames of hell, and by then I was to powerless to stop or change it.
My son was with his Daddy when I ended up living on the streets and then he lived with his Daddy’s mother, his Meme. He was with family that loved him and that was more than I could offer him at this point. It crushed me to know this and accept that it was true but it was and I loved him enough to let him go. People just don’t get how damn hard that was for me. I missed him so terribly every single day, I missed him. I never stopped moving around for long because I would start thinking about him if I did and I would break down.
During this stage of my life, I didn’t see my son. No one told me I couldn’t see him, but I didn’t feel worthy to see him. I had gotten myself into something (the street) and had no idea how to get out of it. I felt like the biggest waste of life by this time.
Although the cocaine kept me going and numb, it couldn’t stop the sharp pains I felt when I thought about my kids. I had failed miserably as a mother, as a daughter, and as a human being, in my mind. I should be dead but there was no way I could kill myself because if I could have, I probably would have at this point.
I was eaten alive with guilt the entire time I was on the streets, that feeling was never numbed by cocaine, no matter how much I used. Believe me, I used enough trying to numb the guilt pain I felt. That mind and body crippling guilt stayed with me until this past year.
***Word of advice. Never make a decision out of spite!
Because, you will be screwed every time. Trust me. I left my mother’s home because I was sick of her feeding me negativity all the time and abusing me off things I wasn’t doing. I couldn’t stand to hear that I was a failure one more time so I left.
That decision cost me more than I would have ever been willing to pay. It cost me losing the life I should have had with my son. Not one day goes by that I don’t not think about this or get teary eyed and cry because I will suddenly just remember. It haunts me to this day. What if?
My son may never totally comprehend the horrible pain and deep loss I experienced, because of the decision I made that day to go to town, out of spite. He did; however, suffer an extensive loss himself later on and it was all my fault. He lost his mom and that gets me instantly crying when I think of it. I messed everything up, always 😢 I was conditioned to think this way, I didn’t want to but it was automatic.
I wanted subconsciously, to hurt my mother so she would hurt like I did, that’s why I believe I left. It backfired on me. I never consciously made the decision to hurt her because I didn’t realize I wasn’t returning. I just simply stated gone every day until I just never went back. But now, looking back, I was so naive in my thinking because I thought that surely she had to love me somewhere in her heart and if I left her, she would see how much she did love me and beg me to come back. Then, she would happily take me to get my son and let us live with her. I blows my mind now, that after all she put me through, that I still wanted to believe that she loved me. I still thought people had the same heart as I did. I was soon to find out, that was not the case at all. It would be a very bitter pill for me to swallow.
I’m not writing this for anyone to feel sorry for me or for attention. I’m doing it for my own healing, because I matter and my pain matters and so my kids will have my story told to them, by me. They have heard my story by others thinking it was theirs to tell. My voice has a right to finally be heard!
I’m writing this so I can tell my kids how deeply I loved them when they were little, despite my many mistakes. I want to tell them how sorry I am for not being the mother I yearned to be in my heart. I wanted to tell them how wrong I was for not being there for them when they needed me, especially.
Once, I was off the streets, some 5 years later, my son came to live with me. It was a long and hard road for me to get there but I felt real good inside about myself for the first time, and I felt like a true “good” mother for the first time in my life.
We moved a few times during the next few years, but for a few years there we were really doing good.
Unfortunately, it was not to last …
💜💙💜 part three to be published soon 💙💜💙
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