as if it was never there at all.

Balance

What is balance? is it being able to juggle a job, 2 children with 2 different schedules, bills, car maintenance, a love life and self care all at once? because if so i may be on the heavier side of the scale. I looked at my mothers facebook today. I saw blurry selfies, an old picture of what used to be my family, meaning my children and their stepbrother, some more blurry photos of my sisters and lots and lots of Jesus propaganda. From this fb profile you would never guess what this woman was capable of. From this face book profile you see a god fearing woman who is grateful for her children, for her grand children and for life itself. 

From this facebook profile i see a facade. i see a sick woman who has found the most appropriate platform to rebuild herself and present herself as she wishes to be seen.  Pretty, warm, great color contrast and the right details will make any living room the family tv sitcom we see on a television. My home, my clothes, my hair had just that. Very well taken care of on the outside, but on the inside, cold, scared, lifeless.  At 8 years old i found myself waiting. Always waiting. Would she come out of her room today? would she feed me today? if i knocked would i receive a response? if i broke in through the sliding door would i find her again naked with one of my abusers? or would a glass cup come hurdling towards my skull. id rather wait then to find out. My days would be spent flipping back and forth through television stations, disney channel, cartoon network, nickelodeon, mtv if i was feeling edgy. If i was hungry id rummage through the fridge and see what i could find but mostly survived off snack packs, untoasted bread with butter, and hardly boiled eggs. I loved playing with my barbie dolls, creating dramatic worlds like id seen on tv. id always have one doll be the victim, and thered always be a boy to understand, to save her if you will, from her own thoughts, from her abuse. Sometimes id get really bored and start looking through drawers, cabinets, closets, bags anything really. id read everything i could, books, labels, cd covers. My mom hadnt caught me at this point and id discovered some old vhs tapes with the title scratched off. It was maurice sendaks’ most loved stories in cartoon form sung by carole king. this vhs, and his stories to this day are extremely soothing to me. Among one of my explorations i found a Linkin Park CD and a cd player. Definitley was going through my brothers things. I ran to my room and i remember being afraid to play it. i was afraid that it would be the scariest thing i ever heard, demons or people screaming and dying. i cant tell you why i felt that way but thats what i felt. when i finally mustered up the courage to listen i couldnt believe it. i couldnt believe that someone else in this entire world had felt what i felt. alone, scared, sad, angry. He had so much to say and every word correlated with how i felt about my mother. i would listen to “hybrid theory” over and over on repeat, mouthing the words in my room, imagining i was screaming them at her face.  I would find myself crying out for my father, for my brother, for God. Wondering what i had done to deserve what i had been dealt. I wondered why, if i had been so well behaved, she still hated me. i wondered why and how my brother could leave me alone with her. Or where my father was. and if he had loved me so much why hadnt he taken me with him. why did everyone leave me alone with this person who so obviously couldnt stand me. Every now and then shed come out of her room and id smell food and id hear Brenton Wood singing, and i would crawl into the hall to peak out and see if it was real. If she was there. Her response was never the same. Sometimes warm, sometimes shed pretend she was on a cooking show like Ina Garten or Paula deen, and begin to tell me how to make what she was making.  Other times, shed spot me and id receive threats.” That room better be clean or im gonna kick your ass!” “Hija de su chingada madre, you came in here and ate all the fucking bread and the butter” “how have you been walking around this house and not cleaned anything up you son of a bitch”. SOmetimes shed be on cleaning binges and i was forced to help, and recieve beatings with the remote (her favorite) a sandal or whatever was near for something as small as scuffed shoes or trash under my bed. No matter the reaction i received i always remained quiet Shed still have her parties and id still have uninvited guests in my room. Or her guests would sit and bounce me on their lap even tho i was much too old for it, nobody ever stopped them. nobody ever said it was inappropriate. My mother had a boyfriend, George. George had come and gone from life quite a bit and he was my favorite of all her boyfriends. I loved him. he spoke mainly spanish and he would listen to me ramble and watch me play. hed buy me taco bell and take me for walks. At one point i expressed to my mother that i loved him and i wanted him to be my father. Her expression was startled.  As a grown woman i could tell you that George wasnt smart. he was very air headed and a drunk.He was raised in cartel country mexico. the last time i spoke to him i was 16 and he revealed to me that my mother had accused him of being in my bed with me. My life was shattered that night. i had never turned around. i would never look to see who it was. it became so normal to me that sometimes id sleep through and think they were dreams. George had abused me too. My mom had married this man and she became pregnant with my sister. At some point during this time my brother was released and i remember them speaking in hushed tones about him staying at our house due to confrontations between him and his father. When my brother came back i was so desperate to be loved and accepted by him. id shown him the cd i found, id shown him the clothes i was wearing that were his, and i could feel the distance. I honestly had wanted things to go back to “normal”, abuse included. Soon enough the abuse did come back tho not as strong, more lap bouncing, once even in front of my mother for a substantial period of time. My mother was pregnant and emotional and maybe she just wanted her family together as a whole, no matter how torn up we were inside. We had many adventures with my brother. He was a funny guy, probably still is. very silly and has a beautiful smile.Hed say the most clever things and have us holding our sides from laughing so hard. Somewhere along this pregnancy my mother was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. i remember the adults discussing it and my brother attempting to explain it to me tho i cant recall what he said other than shes sick. Soon after there was an argument and my brother was screaming and my mother was screaming and things were being thrown and george was just watching. I remember my brother screaming “ I FUCKING HATE YOU” and walking out of the house.  My mom would take me on endless searches for my brother, calling his friends, his ex girlfriends, driving to each friends home and making me get off the car and beg my abuser to come back and see that she was a good person. she would prompt me on exactly what to say before exiting the car just like she had done in mexico each time i visited my father. but thats another story for another post.  When we would find my brother he would come out, with tears in his eyes and his teeth clenched. he would tell me he loved me and ask my mother what she wanted as calmly as possible. she would cry and babble not really knowing what to say i assume. and he would leave he would never come back with us.  I would go home to more hatred more of her screaming at me and at george. her drinking became violent, shed push and instigate physical confrontations “hit me puto” she would say “fucking hit me”. i was always used as a tool for her “this is what you want fucker, for my baby to see this! he raped me!” she would scream “he raped me!” and george would always try to calm her down. ive only seen him give in to her violence once or twice, hiting her and then crying. She probably had his simple mind so emotionally fucked just like she had mine and my brothers. These fights happened often and continued to happen often through out my childhood. I hated seeing her like that and i never knew who to defend. What is balance? i know lows, i know the lowest of lows. and i know highs. Highs are much more brief, but in between, what is that?