MEI have decided that maybe the best therapy for me is to write it down. I have been journaling for years, but now I want to share it with the world. My life was no fairytale and I know alot of women can relate to my childood and even my adult life. Please these are true events that have occured in my life, so be sensitive and constructive when giving feedback. I will not post the whole book, just bits and pieces of chapters and ask what you think? Help me make this successful. I am not a professional, just writing down how I feel. I even thought about making this book a Dear Diary. We will see.

I was born to Edwina Woods and Robert Brown on October 20, 1987. Two young people who had no direction in life and a lack of parenting skills, yet that does not stop a person from conceiving and then going along with the birth. Fortunately, I had a grandmother who loved the world; she raised me along with my older brother. We were blessed not to have ended up in the system, abused and shattered for life. Either way you look at it though we were and still are damaged goods.

My grandmother is the best thing that ever happened to me; she I will talk about in a later chapter in my life. My father was no good, but I didn't see that. He was superman in my eyes, he too I will share my feelings for on another day. As for now, my mother is the problem and a source of my pain.

As a child, I was a dreamer, I thought the world evolved around family and being happy. In my mind, my grandmother was my family and my mother and father was distant brothers and sisters whom I saw infrequently. I guess being that I lived in a fairy tale, this theory worked well for me at that stage in my life. Maybe it was more of a coping mechanism, because the truth was they didn't care enough to want to raise me. Coming on the weekends, was like some kind of treat that was suppose to make me happy but only made me sad. Once the weekend was over, she was gone and my life continued on with me dreaming.

My mother willd argue that she left me with my grandmother because she had to get herself together. I didn't accept this excuse; I felt that it was a mother's place, not the grandmother, to take care of her child. She felt her decision justified because she regained custody of me when I was in fifth grade. Even still, I was unhappy and miserable with her lack of parenting. She had a way of spilling her true feelings out on the table. No matter how good my grades were, or how great I behaved, that didn't change who my father was.

Her lying down and sleeping with my father was somehow my fault, and I had to pay for ruining her life. Need I say that my brother is six years older than I, and she was sixteen at the time of his birth; still I was the one who felt her anger and pain. I was the one who felt emotional and verbal abuse for years; wondering why me God? I questioned whether or not God loved me; I was only a child and had done nothing to deserve such pain.

Did my mother's words make her bad parent? No, she was hurt and refused to release her past, which is what made her a bad parent. Instead of accepting the consequences of her actions, and choosing to love me unconditionally, she chose to show me how much she hated me with her mouth. She chose to hold a grudge against my father by hurting me. Did I love my mother? No, not at the time, I hated her just as much as she hated me. I always said that I would not cry if she passed away; sometimes I even wished I would just pass away.

My mother never came to my track meets, she failed to see me dance so beautifully, once she came to a football game where I performed in the marching band, and I cannot recall her being at the talent shows I never won. She didn't paint my nails in pretty colors, or read me a book at night. Never did she help me with my homework or ask had I done it. I don't remember a time when we sat down and had real girl talk, and the birds and the bees was a myth I heard about from a friend. All these things I longed for in a mother, a relationship I desperately wanted so bad. My desperation for all those wonderful things led to destruction and a bipolar side of me.



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