Another Piece of Me
Life Told in Fragments
“Get this kid away from me!” she would shriek, dangling me as a baby in the direction of my father.
“Somebody, ANYBODY—Somebody, please take this kid! I can’t take it anymore!” That was a regular refrain she’d play out, out in the middle of the mall or at a shopping center.
Many times she’d lose me for a bit. Usually just long enough to have someone to thank for saving the day, after they’d page her over the PA system when I told them I couldn’t find her.
“Oh, thank God! I was so scared! There are so many bad people out there! I’m just so glad you found her and paged me! Thank you so much for finding me!”
I only remember someone having to call the house from a security area a couple of times, after she’d driven off without me.
I grew up watching General Hospital after school with babysitters—neighborhood girls a couple to few years older than me she’d pay to watch me, who she’d enjoy gossiping to about what a terrible daughter I was and how she wished I could be more like them.
When they’d compliment me, she’d own that too. Of course they’d talk shit about me when they got home, because nobody disliked my mother. At least not to anyone’s face.
“Oh, I love your mother.” has always been the mantra from everyone in town and beyond.
That was when I studied Soap Opera Storylines—narratives built around sponsorship, thus “soap” “operas”.
They’re theatrical productions with B & C level talent, traditionally funded by selling soap and household products to housewives, while getting them fired up enough to behave like Pavlov’s dog.
In the show they’re triggered to lust, speculate, and trash talk the characters, essentially receiving a consistent dose of their junkie-juice five days per week. The placebo effect of a pharmaceutical, without the overhead.
Where advertisers would input shopping scripts at particular intervals, with particular colors and sounds to elicit specific behavior. The time of day was very specific. It was all immediately clear to me.
Probably also since my mother enrolled me in musical theater and dance classes as soon as she could. She needed a better performer than my father, and ultimately one much better than I could ever be.
Of course, that was all before recognizing hypnosis for what it was. But that was where I first dissected it—the over-the-top dramas of the 1980’s that led to today’s familial behaviors. Pretty unbelievable.
I enjoyed the comedic nature of the show, though it certainly was not age appropriate television content for me. I knew that, even then.
My mother’s sister in law, Alice Ann—who she figured out how to pass me off to for a few months while in sixth grade—was partial to watching The Young & The Restless.
By the time I had to live with her and my father’s brother, Charles Edward, their grown son Jeff was already a big soap star, as you’d hear her tell it. She was very proud.
His sister, Mary Ann, visited with us once while I lived there. She brought me a gift she told me was from being stationed in Korea—two frilly pink thongs. Not the sort you put on your feet. One hot pink, and one light pink. I was 12.
She gave them to me standing next to her husband, though I think that was before they got married, in front of the house by a tree. That was not an age appropriate gift, Mary Ann.
Anyhow, I can assure you that no matter what you might think you know about me, you are wrong. So wrong.
When you remember that you were born to a mother who would rather you be dead, kidnapped, or otherwise warehoused and tortured, there ain’t nobody who can hurt your feelings anymore.
She took everything and everyone that honored me away, from the very beginning of my being. And no matter what, I have to live with that reality. I never had another choice. So I live, despite her hate. Despite her threats. Despite her control.
I’m still the same child who fell through all the cracks, all those years ago and survived, so that you and your children could be taken better care of. But you all like it this way too much! I’m falling through still, while people like her grow old, get comfortable, and get away with murder.
Now the cracks are massive, and unless people change drastically, very quickly, from the inside out, the seismic force of catastrophe that you are seeing these days will soon pale in comparison.
Not long from now you’re going to look back with your friends and wish that you had made different decisions. Especially if you’ve got kids or ever plan to have them.
Hopefully you’ll change your behavior immediately. If not sooner.
#GrowthSeekersWelcome
🕊️