This is good but I would like it to be expanded. I think you are just starting and have much more to say.
| My mom died when I was 10...my father's 3rd wife had left us just about 6 months before with a check book forgotten by mistake with eighty bucks in it, a love seat and a couple pieces of silverware in a drawer. I had a feeling that things were not going to get any easier, I would continue to try to figure out why god was testing me so often. I sure didn't feel that I was passing any tests or feeling any sense of what I had, was having and I am sure what the future held for me.
My family consisted of my brother who was 2 years older than I and my dad along with whatever wife or girlfriend he had at the time. My father commuted to and from work which was about 4 hours on the road with atleast 10 hours at work and he needed to make a stop at the local singles bar on the way home to make sure he always had a supply of women to preach to, manipulate ad bitch at.
I lasted being at home until I was about 12 being the "woman" of the house. That consisted of making shopping lists, preparing dinner, packing lunches, doing the laundry, vacuuming and dusting. My brother took the garbage out and mowed the lawn. Soon I realized that I could not take much more of being responsible for so much and having to sit through sermons for hours about my fathers' conspiracy theories.
I soon moved in with my aunt who reminds me alot of Judge Judy and boy did she rule with an iron fist. I spent almost a year being terrorized by my father who was goingto put AIDS in the drinking water to kill my Aunt who had sought and gained emergency custody of me. I wonder if he ever thought that I might have drank the water? I am sure the broken jaw I had compliments of my father and the excessive amount of pot that he smoked contributed to the whole scenario.
It seems from he moment that I had memories I always felt displaced, an outsider...never feeling secure or loved, wanted, needed. Just a necessity in thier altier motives. That was just part of my reason to leave home if that is what you call it. Where you lay your head is home I heard once in a song...and that was my quest.
Soon I was off to my Father's X-wife's and the to a friends' house and so the journey began for me to find a home. I really didn't know what I was looking for...whatever fell into my lap was what I worked with. Opportunity became a meal, a bed, a concert, a smile, or just to survive another day, week or month if I was lucky.
I remember doing my laundry after people went to bed so I wasn't caught using the washer and dryer myself. I always rinsed my dishes and cleaned up twice as much as the mess I made. With certain care to not dish too much food or forget to compliment the chef or automatially take the garbage out without being asked. I always took a bag with me when I left in case I might not be let back in or the friend who I was living with didn't make it back. I was pretty used to not getting a key...the parents usually didn't know me from Adam and were happy enough to get half of my Social Security check when it came each month.
Making long distance phone calls to plan my next place to live was very hard to get away with but I became quite resourseful.I had an after school/weekend job so I could buy my own deodorant and have lunch money, it was a hard time to get through riding the bus and having to beg rides. I was always trying to make sure the people I was staying with saw I took my shampoo and conditioner to and from the bathroom so they did not think I was stealing thiers.
I was always watching what other people wanted on TV and having to wake up when the lights get turned on since the floor or sharing a bed was the norm for me. Being left at home while the "family" went to family gatherings, movies, dinners out.I always had a 2nd hand book, used magazine or a letter to write that I dove into to escape. I'm still doing it...
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