I'm not a pessimist; I'm a cynic!

I'm really sorry that my first few posts have been such soul-sucking downers. I just felt that a little background is needed to help understand my perspective on things.

My G-ma, the one I lived with for 7 years, once said that for everything I've been through I've turned out pretty good, but she also said I was the only 3 year old cynic she ever met. My G-ma never knew what happened with my step-father. She may have suspected because she asked me once if there was anything going on other than excessive corporal punishment. I lied. When you are the obvious "mistake" in the family you learn not to make waves. I did everything I could not to call attention to myself and be a further burden on the family.

In some ways I like the fact that I felt ignored by my parents. This is the main reason that I do so much with and for my own children. Some people say that I put too much focus on them, but my time with them is so short in the grand scheme of things I don't think I can do enough to make the most of it. Sure there will be a void in my life when they leave home, but I'll figure out how to fill it when the time comes.

Unfortunately that time is coming a lot quicker than I thought it would.

My life becomes an after-school special

When I was 10 years old my mother remarried. I knew nothing about him and had only seen him a few times. He was a scruffy red-head that worked on a towboat that travelled up and down the Mississippi River. I was terrified of the changes my life was about to undergo.

My mom worked nights as a convienence store clerk/manager and my step-father was gone for weeks at a time on the boat. I was in charge when they were both gone which was fine with me. I wasn't used to my mom being around at all, but I didn't care for being left with some strange man when my step-father was off the boat.

My brother and I weren't bad kids. We had been sent to our rooms for the usual childhood transgressions. My step-father seemed to have different ideas about how children should behave and how they should be punished. I went from never being spanked in my life to refusing to dress out in P.E. so noone would see the bruises on the backs of my thighs. We were accused of lying and beaten until we could figure out what truth he wanted to hear. I was better at this game than my little brother so I would often take the more severe beating.

A few years later my step-father would have me keep him company while my mom was at work. This usually involved watching porn with him late at night. He would also leave various magazines around, and not the classy kind like Playboy or Penthouse. These had grainy low-resolution pictures with no airbrushing. Scary pictures for a 12 year old.

One night he woke me up and had me go to his room and get into bed with him. He told me to face the wall while he got undressed and got into bed. I lay there terrified out of my mind. I wanted to cry, I wanted to run, I wanted to kill him right then and there. By some miracle he came to his senses and told me to leave. I was shaking so bad I thought I wouldn't be able to walk down the hall back to my room.

I spent the rest of the next day or two trying to work up the courage to tell my mom. I brought it up in a general way at a rare family dinner. He gave me a very threatening look and told me to drop it. She never came to me and asked what it was all about and I have no idea if she ever suspected or what story he told her. After that I was spared from the beatings, but I was never the same.

Things didn't get any better. He quit working, or got fired from the boat so he was around more. When I was 14 he moved us to Arkansas. I hated it. I hated him. I hated her. I suffered a year there until he knocked my brother out cold for something stupid and minor. I started plotting his death. I started planning my suicide. That's when I decided to leave.

I was 15 when I asked to go live with my dad. I really didn't know him that well and used some lame bullshit excuse about getting to know him better now that he wasn't in the military and was back living stateside. My mom was furious. She agreed to let me go, but she said she hoped I had a daughter that would leave me so I would know how it felt. Whatever.

I believe my brother resents me still. He didn't have anywhere to go. He was stuck and I was leaving him to fend for himself. I'm sorry for that, but it was my step-father or me and he was winning.

How's that for a depressing Monday post?

Chapter 1...I am born.

My mother had the misfortune of being a pregnant teenager before Roe v. Wade. Or you could say I had the misfortune of being the product of a pregnant teenager before Roe v. Wade.

Here are the cliff notes on my early years. My mom and dad dated in high school. They partied a little too much on graduation night and had a quick wedding a few months later. Dad did what any fresh out of high school husband and father does, he joined the military and got shipped off to Vietnam.

While he was away he was undoubtedly "loved long time" by many Vietnamese ladies while my mom was stateside screwing around with a married ex-con. Yes, my mother had the audacity to be seen in my dad's car with this guy, me on her lap, by none other than her in-laws.

Shortly after he returned from Vietnam they were divorced and 6 months later my mom had my little brother. Dad stayed in the military and quickly remarried. Mom took my brother and I and hid from the rest of the family by shacking up with the married boyfriend.

I don't know much about the boyfriend, but I've heard that I would hide under the bed and in closets when he was around. I also heard that he almost broke her arm while she was pregnant with my brother. Drugs were rumored to be involved as well. No wonder she wouldn't list him on my brother's birth certificate.

Dad was able to force visitation. Once he got his hands on me he left town and refused to return until she left this loser. In my mind that is the only decent thing my dad has done for me, but more about him later. Mom came to her senses and left her boyfriend. She went to live with her parents, my g-ma and poppa.

The next several years were as near to perfect as my life has ever been. G-ma was an amazing woman and raised my brother and I as if we were her own kids. Mom was around, but she was more like a much older sibling than a parent.

The thing I hated the most during this period was the visitation situation, every other weekend with my dad's parents. Since he was stationed out of state they got the privilege of babysitting their son's kid. Trust me, that's how they felt and they weren't always good at hiding their resentment.

Now, my paternal grandparents were loud and obnoxious people. They loved to gossip and put people down. The best way to survive was to throw someone else in front of the bus. As a kid I quickly learned the rule, but I didn't learn to turn it off before returning home. My life became a cycle of being picked on for being too much like my mother's family to be being punished for my attitude and behavior when returning from a visit with my father's family.

As I grew older I became better at being one way here and one way there. This is a skill that served me well in my customer service jobs. I can assimilate into any crowd. The biggest drawback to living like this is you never really get to develop your own identity.

This seems like your pretty standard run-of-the-mill dysfunction. Nothing too spectacular or therapy inducing until...

Be gentle...this is my first time.

Wow! I did it, facebook, myspace and now my very own blog.

I'm not really sure why I wanted a blog. I used to write a lot, mostly random thoughts on notepads. I've always found that better out than in is a good rule of thumb. But the thought of anyone actually reading what I'd written scared the bejesus out of me. Still does.

I would like to warn anyone who knows me as a happy-go-lucky yet somewhat cynical person may be shocked by what they read here. Like many others I am plagued by horrible demons, and cursed with the near compulsion to be honest about them. If I have no secrets then there is nothing you can use against me. Can you say "victim of emotional blackmail"?

You've been warned. Posts will be unbelievably honest, but they are in no means a cry for help or plea for sympathy.

Read at your own risk.