Mine and Mother's Dysphoria Little tidbits of a life worth escaping.

Yesterday my mother and I were watching the news, and the report about the missing girl from the ‘90’s being returned to her parents came on.

My mother then proceeded to tell me a story about when she was between the ages of eight and ten.

Apparently my mother was playing outside with one of her older sisters and her youngest brother when two guys in a vehicle came down the driveway to talk to them. At this point I believe my mother had horses (or something) and the two men asked them if the three of them wanted to go see their ponies. They said that they were new neighbors and they thought they’d get to know people by showing off their ponies.

My Aunt Peggy—pretending to be innocent—said that she had to go inside and wake up her mother to ask if they could go with them. The immediately backed off and left. My grandmother was at work at the time and apparently Aunt Peggy was surprised one of them didn’t blow it and say, “But Mom’s at work!”

There you have it folks, my mother was almost abducted.

I was trying to edit my sophomore year edition, and instead of edit I hit the delete button. I wish Tumblr would have delete on the outside or a backup file or something. I don’t really feel like rewriting it, but I might eventually make an emo-book some day.

The biggest thing I want for myself is a college degree in something I love. I am currently a double major in Art (Photography) and English (Creative Writing) at a liberal arts college.

I love college, but every year I have trouble paying for it. My freshman year I worked hard just to get a private loan without a cosigner (I had NO credit). I cried to myself, and worried but by Spring Quarter I felt that everything was going to be ok. I was about to get my loan check, and as soon as I found a good bank I was going to start up a checking account and pay my school off immediately.

One week the check finally came in the mail (at home, of course, because they didn’t want to make life easier for me), so I told my mother to forward it to me. That Friday my swipe card didn’t give me access to my dorm building, so I went next door to Student Affairs shaken up and scared that I was homeless. I cried to some of the workers (by the way, people in the Student Affairs Office are the nicest people on campus). I was explained to that they were sent an email saying I was unenrolling from the Business Office (crankiest people on Earth). I told them I knew nothing of what was going on (other than I hadn’t paid  yet this year because I was waiting on the check); the Business Office claimed to have sent me an email, but they never did.

Student Affairs got me set up with a temporary card and one lady even gave me her cell phone number in case I needed her. I never used it, but the idea made me feel a lot better. I was unenrolled the entire next week until I was able to appeal the unenrollment forced upon me, and they accepted my studentship request.

I’m not even going to talk about the spoiled girl I was currently rooming with…she’s the type that doesn’t give a crap about your problems even though hers is “OH NO! I’m joining this sorority by choice and they’re making us make them breakfast!”

Last night I had cried and screamed for a couple of hours while talking to one of my roommates on the phone (Its about school crap, which I’ll explain later). I had come down stairs around 9:00PM to eat dinner. I ate three bites and put the already cold dinner in the refrigerator because before I started eating I told my mother what was up and felt my stomach tie itself in knots.

My mother came upstairs last night because she knew I was upset. She lives/sleeps/breathes/eats downstairs and never comes upstairs, especially when I’m up here. My mother doesn’t have cartilage in one of her knees because of an accident that happened a year ago, so she has some awful leg problems. She came all the way upstairs just to give me a hug goodnight.

My mother told me she ran into my grandfather’s room one afternoon and saw my Grandfather lying on the bed and my Aunt Linda dabbing a wet towel on his forehead. My grandfather was making strange moaning sounds and his head jerked back and forth. When my Aunt Linda spotted her she said, “Judy, Dad’s going to be ok. You just go outside and play, ok?”

My mother went outside and thought nothing more of it.

Looking back now she says that my grandfather must have been having a seizure.

Directly afterwards mother told me about how my grandfather would beat Linda more than any of the other children. He would beat her like he did his wife.

My Aunt Linda is a very dear person to me. She died when I was eight, but every time Mother and I talk about her my eyes well up and my heart feels sore. I don’t remember much about her, but she was an angel in life. She would do anything for the ones she loved and she was a very talented seamstress, but unfortunately she suffered from an extreme form of alcoholism. AA could not help her and neither could her loved ones. She hid liquor everywhere in her house and even in her purse.

My Grandfather was an alcoholic, but as soon as he married my Step-Grandmother he slowed down because of poor health. Grandma Louis really helped him, but he smoked just as much as he drank and both of those things lead him to his demise in his mid to late 70’s. My Grandfather was a coal miner and a veteran. He disliked war movies, but was always watching westerns. He died whilst I was in my fourth grade year. I was his favorite grandchild, so he spoiled me whenever a holiday or a birthday came round. Most of the memories I have of him he was on oxygen, smelled of smoke, and wheezed.

Last night around 10:30PM my mother and I got a call from my aunt Peggy asking us to go pick up her grandchildren. The poor little girls were thrusted upon my cousin Ryan’s girlfriend because their mother was tired of them. Ryan was no where to be found, and when my aunt recieved a destressing phone call from one of the girls (one is in kindergarden and the other in first grade) she called the only person she knew would and could help: my mother.

On the long car ride to my cousin’s house my mother told me about her childhood.

She shared a memory with me from when she was six years old. Before I can tell you the memory I need to inform you that her parents were violent and from Virginia. My grandfather was an alcoholic and my grandmother is just heartless.

Standing in a corner clinging to her younger brother, completely stiff from fear, my mother watched as my grandmother was beaten almost to death by my grandfather. Blood was gushing everywhere as my mothers two oldest sisters pulled my drunk grandfather off of my grandmother in an attempt to save her life and calm him down. All of the children thought he was going to kill her.

Looking back now my mother says that she believes Grandma might have been on her period because she was bleeding so much.