Ha! Aspiring writer. Who knew that this lost dream would awaken. But, what am I doing with it? Nothing but complaining, doing copious amounts of research, and then commenting on people's posts on social networking sites. Basically, nothing. I wonder if I will ever get the needed fire under my butt to actually write about the things that inspire me the most.
I have issues. I have a great deal of them. I feel that these issues need to be addressed before I can start organizing my writings into a cohesive book. I fear that I am incoherent in my writings, kind of like Faust, a brilliant piece of work that needs a codex and a road map, to decipher. I wonder if this is how many writers start off, just randomly writing the first things that come to mind. I sometimes feel that I will always be the squirrel and that stupid poem, that was published in 2006, will be the only thing that I ever produce in print.
That very thought scares the crap out of me. I want to put my ideas in print. I want to tell stories. I want to write the ones that other people want to read, the ones that change lives and perceptions of reality. The trouble that I am having with this is: where do I begin? If I just sit down on my laptop and start writing, will the results be like my blog, the one you are reading now, the one that hardly makes any sense at all? Ugh. I get so frustrated with myself.
I suffer from low self-esteem, I have for many years, now. I used to be a bright and energetic kid. My mother (!) berated me as a child and yelled at me so much, called me names, and finally broke my spirit, to the point that I believed that I was what she claimed I was: a worthless pain in the ass, who talked too much. It is sad to say, but it is true. I was called every name in the book by my own mother. I was made to feel inferior, belittled. This lasted 18 years.
My mother is a can of worms that I have been hesitant to open, while blogging. I could write an entire book about her, as well as the host of other issues, that I feel I have, because of her treatment of me while growing up. My mother was a very difficult woman to live with; that is putting it lightly. But, since I think that I opened this can already, here goes nothing...
My grandparents willed everything to me, upon their death, so that I could go to college, so I would not have to work constantly and have my grades suffer. There was a close family friend, and Masonic Brother to my maternal grandfather, who was designated as the Executor of their will. My grandfather passed away first, on August 24, 1996. This was my second day of high school. I awoke that morning to find that my grandfather had passed away, during the night. The image that has haunted me for years, was that of my grandfather's body being taken down the stairs on a stretcher, draped in a white sheet. It was a sad day, but to avoid being stuck with my crazy and hysterical mother all day, I went to school. High School was an escape, for me. Although it was difficult, I loved to go to school; my mother was not there and I was free to be myself.
Right after I officially dropped out of High School, in the early months of 1999, my grandmother passed away. This killed me. My Nana was my world, my savior, the only person, in my house, who cared about me and would listen to what I had to say. I loved my Nana with all my heart. But she was a frail little thing with a heart condition and chronic respiratory problems. With both of my maternal grandparents deceased, my mother had full reins on me. The Executor of my grandparent's will decided that my mother was just too much to handle and stepped down; this action caused my mother to become the new Executor, by default. This coward made my life so difficult for the next few years... I don't know if I will ever forgive him. He knows who he is, and how much he disappointed his Masonic Brother. He knows just how much my grandfather would turn over in his grave and curse him for being the spineless piece of garbage that he was. I will not name names, but some of you might get your teeth cleaned by this coward. I have an arrest record, thanks to this man.
Moving on... After my mother found out that she was the new designated Executor to the Groeber Estate, she proceeded to spend over $26,000 in two measly months. What did she buy? Leather jackets, cheap used cars, fake wood furniture that fell apart, when you tried to move it after it was assembled. She bought jewelery, for herself, and her paranoid schizophrenic boyfriend, who was the father of her unborn child. She bought baby furniture and a light turquoise leather couch set. All of these items purchased, with my college fund, she lost due to nonpayment on her numerous storage units, less than a year after their purchase. MaryLee also bought me a few items, consolation gifts, I suppose. She knew she had won. She knew that I was just a pot-head, a teenage high school drop out, a loser, and a heavy drinker. When she became the Executor, there was a new sheriff in town and she was going to rule with an iron fist. My only hope was to go back to school.
My mother knew how to get under my skin. She knew how much I hated and despised her for hitting my 73 year old grandmother in 1997; I would never forgive her for this atrocity, and she knew it. After she hit Nana, it was over. This woman would never be looked at as anything other than White Trash, by me. Yes, you read that right, I just called my own mother white trash. Nana was always more of a mother to me than my own would ever hope to be. Nana and I would talk for hours. Mary Althea Groeber was the most witty, intelligent, caring, and spiritual person I have ever known. I miss her everyday, even over 11 years after her death.
I eventually sued my own mother and won. I gained control over my college trust fund and put myself through school. I graduated from a major university with a Bachelor's Degree, at the top of my class, no less, earning Magna cum Laude Honors. My mother may have tried everything in her power to keep my free-spirit locked in a cage, but her efforts availed her nothing, in the end.
I haven't spoke to my mother in years and I do not even know where she is, currently.
... to be continued... one day.
YouTube Mother Video, Pink Floyd
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