Being the youngest of eight children hasn't been easy. I could write a bestselling novel with the story of my life. They say that the youngest is the one that gets spoiled NOT! By the time Mom had me, she was so mentally and physically exhausted that I was just another mouth at that point. The older ones were allowed to do things when Mom was gone that she wouldn't have let them do when she was home. It was like she was tired of dealing with arguing, enforcing rules,etc. except on me. She didn't have a problem with that. Maybe it was because I was too young to fight back. I don't know. I would be left at home by myself while the others took off to their friends. When Mom came home and the chores weren't done, I was the one that got into trouble. I was too young to go anywhere so why didn't I do them? Did I have something better to do? Total shit.

I pissed off one of Mom's husbands when I was 11 and she sent me to live with Sharon in California. I love Sharon. I never knew why I felt so close to her until years later but she's always been "MOM" to me. I was finally in a normal family situation. It was weird and cool at the same time. I liked having the rules, chores and such but I liked that I didn't get my ass beat for stupid shit or for shit that I didn't do. Sharon & Jeff were fair and honest with me. It was really an eye opener for me. Then, I had to go home to Tucson. I was crushed. I didn't find out why until several years later.

I was not happy. The asshole husband was still there. I tried to stay away from him as much as possible so I didn't piss him off and ruin everyone's day but that just wasn't in the cards. Everything I did pissed him off. Just being there pissed him off. I think that he didn't like me because I saw right through him and he knew it. He never did anything to me but he always made me feel as though he was hiding something. He seemed to be able to buy everyone else's silence but I didn't have to say a word for him to know what I was thinking. Finally, one day he burned the house down. It was my fault. Apparently, I'd done something (who knows what), he got pissed, did some crazy shit then burned Mom's house to the ground. For years, this was a topic of conversation for the adults but I was just made to feel bad by the way they looked at me and treated me.

I ran away from home when I was 15. I stayed in Tucson for awhile then I went to Kansas with a friend where I met Matthew's father. I never wanted to get married, I didn't want a husband. I just wanted my son. I got what I wanted and that's when the shit really hit the fan. Everyone said that I had to get married. After all, I was pregnant. NOT! Funny, but I had known since I was an early teen that I would have a child, be single and that it would be a boy. Anyway, it appears as though my life was really made of roses. lol

It's no wonder that I didn't speak to Mom for years. The only time that I was around her was Mother's Day, Christmas, Easter and Matthew's birthday. That's just because of Matthew. Otherwise, I wouldn't have ever spoken to her.

I never did change my opinion of my childhood but I did manage to get over myself. I decided that she would never change, I would have to be the one to change. She didn't even remember a lot of the things that happened when we were kids the way that they actually happened. It's almost as if she'd lied to herself for so many years about the things that happened and the way that things were so that they actually became real to her. Her memories were fabricated but real as her hand in front of her face. It was time for me to just be honest about the fact that I knew what really happened and I would have to overlook things if I ever planned on having a normal life without all of the grudge holding.

It wasn't until 1998 that things changed. Sharon told me that Mom was having really bad headaches and that she would black out while she was totally awake. I knew that she had a cyst in her brain and that her symptoms really meant trouble. I knew that if anything happened to Mom that Sharon would be completely devastated. So, I forced Mom into doctor appointments and such just to find out that her diagnosis from years ago of having a cyst were wrong. She actually had a tumor in her brain that was groing like crazy. It was blocking off fluid to her spine, putting pressure on her optical nerves and various other problems.

I spent quite a bit of time with her through all of this.

Anyway, Mom had the tumor removed during a 13 hour surgery. The tumor was about the size of a jumbo egg and they managed to get it all. This left her with something like 53 staples, seizures, a stroke that wiped out her left side and a long recovery. I've gotten closer to her through all of the things that occurred after her surgery but only because I had to look past my childhood to see the bigger picture. This was my mom. I did love her. I hated things that she did but I loved her.

She has helped me quite a bit in the last 6 months of dealing with the panic disorder. Sharon has helped me immensely with the moral support that she's given to me. Eddie has helped me by helping motivate and empower Mom. Anita has helped me by being able to dredge up the past in order to vent. The other's haven't done shit. I really do love most of my family and appreciate them all in different ways. It's just that the stress of all the "constructive criticism" was getting to me. Sometimes, I just need to be treated as though I do not have a panic disorder. I don't like that being the focal point of every single conversation or Pear of Wisdom. I need to feel normal, be treated as if I'm normal and just generally treated with respect as a human....