>From the time I was a little girl.. I’ve had troubles remembering experiences I have in my life unless I really focus on remembering them or they were traumatic and caused me to remember. Most of my childhood I don’t really remember. It’s like a dark corridor with a few flashing lights here and there.

The first memory I have… came in the form of a dream… but was confirmed by my Mother that it was indeed a memory. My Grandmother died when I was two… she adored me and I her apparently. We went everywhere together.

In the dream, we had her wake at the house.. which was common back in the 80’s down south. She was laid out in the living room and my Mother had put steps up against the coffin so that I could look in on her. Creepy… I know… but that’s how it went down.

Anyways, in the dream I was in a light pink or maybe white dress. I crawled up the steps because I was afraid of falling off. As I reached the top, I looked in… and it was like a dark black spot. There was nothing there. My only thought is that it was so painful for me that I blanked it out.

In between that I remember my 5th birthday…. my 6th birthday and the bike I got. I remember my Mom and her friend watching Pet Cemetery and us kids having to stay outside because it was too scary. And then I remember one of the most traumatic things from my childhood. Mind you, most of my growing up wasn’t that fun… there were good times, don’t worry, but we grew up poor… and even poorer because my parents and I really didnt have a strong relationship.

So I was eight… I was supposed to wash the dishes and I didn’t. My mom got pissed to say the least and started screaming at me. She took the dishes out of the sink and threw them on the floor, breaking all over. I was terrified… it happened all so fast. Then she started pulling the clean dishes out of the cabinet and throwing them to the ground.

The only thing I could do was cry.. and then shriek out that she didn’t love me. Her reply certainly didn’t prove to me that she loved me… she pulled back and slapped my square across my face. I was shocked… she yelled at me saying that she did love me and to never say that again. I, of course, never said that again… but I didn’t feel at ease that she did indeed love me… her only daughter.

Nothing really improved from there… our relationship never strengthened…. and to this day she and I do no really speak. It’s been almost a year since I last spoke to her, and honestly, I’m not all torn up about it. That woman has no place in my life… she secured that for herself. At some point you have to say enough is enough and move on with your own life… which I have done.

I’m not saying it doesn’t make me sad to think that she and I aren’t close.. because it makes me very sad. I am somewhat jealous of people that have good relationships with their parents. I hope that they know just how lucky they are to have that.

I do, however, have a strong parental influence in my life. My ex’s parents have been wonderful to me. They look at me as their daughter… and I love that. I love that I have people I can call my parents.. that I have love and respect for them.. and vice versa. So in that aspect I am lucky.. to have the chance to have that sort of relationship.. even if its not with people whom gave me life.

I say, take what you can get… you never know what life will throw at you. You are not defined by where you came from, but who are you. I happen to think I’m a wonderful person with lots to offer to the world… and at the end of the day.. I can look in the mirror and be proud of who I am. That’s all I can ask for.

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