A lot of people have been telling me to call her. I tried conversing with her the other day. She still treats me as if I was a rebellious child.
I have told my story so many times before that people are tired of hearing about it. I have since wondered whether I deserve being bothered of being alive.
My husband asked me the other day if I were to go back in time, would I have done something differently?
NO!
I did the things my mother hated because I took the responsibility of protecting my sisters. I became the dominant male of the household.
My father at the time, couldn't care less about my sisters' well-being – much less my state of living.
My mother's attempt of ending my life or getting rid of me came very close if it had not been for his disciplinary methods.
My father's absence during my formative years allowed my mother to abuse me in ways a child should never have to experience.
It wasn't until I left my parents' household in 2000 when my father became an actively involved parent. I didn't know this until he told me a lot of things that happened in my absence.
I was grateful that he took responsibility for protecting my sisters. Sadly, not in the way a father should have done so.
My parents were married for 35 years. Ever since I was 7, all they did was antagonize each other. The hypocrisy of living a "Christian" life behoove me until his death on May 20, 2010.
The decision my mother made to celebrate my birthday to console her in grieving her husband's death still pains me with horrible memories of how she had always celebrated June 6.
I tried my best to erase all those painful memories. I never asked for anything grandeur as a birthday celebrant. All I wanted was to be accepted just as I am. When I was turning 7, she wanted me to celebrate my birthday on my youngest sister's birthday.
I asked a lot of questions to the point it irritated her. She slapped me with a wooden spoon on my mouth. For a 7 year old, that intense interaction was burnt into memory.
When I was turning 13, she insisted I celebrate my birthday on the 7th. She blamed her obstetrician for not allowing her to give birth to me on the 7th day of June. She proceeded to tell me that I wasn't supposed to be born at all.
On my 16th birthday, she told me to invite my classmates so that I can convert them to Christianity. My father kept telling me to stop playing with my classmates and serve them instead. I was in tears. My classmates cheered me up by razing my parents' living room. Even though the party was cut short, my parents told me never to invite my classmates to their house anymore. When I pointed out that they were the ones who encouraged me to do so despite my warning, I got a good beating from my mother.
On my 19th birthday, my mother invited her friends so she can sell her "Saladmaster kitchenware." I received presents from strangers with inappropriate birthday cards. Their gifts were eventually destroyed by rat piss. I had left my things in my parent's garage when I left to enlist in the Air Force. All my belongings were no longer worth keeping when I returned to California in 2010.
Seeing my father's dead corpse on my 31st birthday with my mother's inconsolable respite towards my hospitality was the last straw for me.
On my 35th birthday, my mother left a message on my phone with a lot of bitter resentment and ended the message, "I wished that you were never born!"
You would think I would be homicidal towards her, but I'm not. I was an angry child – not a petty one.
I am suffering from clinical depression, high blood pressure, insomnia and chronic pain because I was angry all the time.
Since my new family is concerned about my health, I have been going through a lot of changes in my behavior.
The catalyst that began my healing journey was during my decision to divorce my old family in 2008. It was a devastating loss. My child and I had taken self-help classes and life skills to help restore our relationship within ourselves.
They decided to go on their own path, while I stayed the course with self-care and cognitive behavioral therapy.
Although my life has been challenging, I am grateful to have a roof over my shoulder, clothes on my back, and food on the table.
Although I am still healing from the painful memories, I am not my depression. It comes and goes like the chill of winter.
I still love and care about my mother. Even though she has lost so many years in getting to know me in person, I cannot bring myself to share my feelings with her.
I have tried opening up to her to enlighten her of what she missed via email correspondences and text messages (2008 - 2010). She has not been kind to me.
When her mother passed, she implied I was inconsiderate for not trying to visit her and her mother. 😩
She doesn't need to know that I had a difficult time trying to get someone from the hospital to pick up the phone. Whether my letters to my grandmother were read was yet to be confirmed. I figured my grandmother had forgotten me.
I know in my heart what I did was right. If I had not done the things that upset my mother, my sister, Beautiful Orchid, wouldn't be here with us today (kidnapped by a pedophile at 10 years old). My sisters Beautiful Love and Beautiful Wisdom would have been in a mental hospital (raped by a 12 year old boy at ages 6 and 4). I would have been enslaved to a Christian man doing unspeakable things to me at the age of 12.
If I had not enlisted in the Air Force, I wouldn't be alive today. I'd probably be electrocuted as a death penalty for murder in the first degree (My father was about to attack my mother. I jumped in and slammed him down on the ground before the weapon struck my mother. My plan was to kill him if necessary.)
If I were to be sent back to the past, I would have made the same decision every single time.
