First of all if you ever read this, I'm truly sorry. I am tired of being painted as the Master Villain of my own story. But as much as it is my story, it was yours first, and hers before yours. Maybe the reason for that is that no one who knew the story was willing to talk about it. It's easier to be the Wicked Queen then to step up, accept your part, and reject any other mantle others would put upon you.
I am breaking that cycle.
It's funny the muses that come to you in the dark in between hours. When you're so completely alone with yourself that you have that chance to pause and reflect at even the quietest whispers your mind utters. Well, tonight here's mine.
For a long time, as long as I can remember even; everyone has always attributed my personality to my mother and ALWAYS with a negative connotation.
"You sound just like your mother"
"Your mother would be proud, did she teach you that?"
But of course my favorite was;
"Your dad didn't beat you hard enough, you're a bitch just like your mother"
The hilarious part is? They all have it wrong. Oh, of course only an asshole would cut your parent down in front of you like that, or try to make you feel lesser for their part of you. But my mother, for all her faults, can only be blamed for the strongest, most resilient parts of me. Sure, we share a similar visage, and my intonations and laugh are reminiscent of my mom. Someone else however, takes the stage for the less appreciated shades of Tia.
Daddy, take a bow.
I don't want anyone to take this the wrong way. I love my Daddy, very dearly. We butted heads harder than anyone, mainly because we shared the same stubborn, willful spirit. But he was, and always will be, my Daddy.
I had a discussion recently about how children are like putty; we shape them from blank forms into who they become. Sure, there's an argument to be made for nature versus nurture, but there is no denying the impact of an environment on a child. Some are going to adapt strongly, whilst others have a weaker adaption.
I was the prior.
Unfortunately, the traits that others hate so strongly are not so much the result of something that was done directly to me, it was adapting to sway events.
For all that I adore and idolize my Father, he was not a perfect man, he had demons who were very known. My Daddy was an addict, his poisons of preference being cigarettes and alcohol. Daddy liked to go to the bar with his "friends" to sit, drink, play pool, listen to music and "relax". He earned it because he worked every day. He got to the point where it was a near every day thing. When he couldn't afford to go to the bar, or they wouldn't run him another tab, he would simply buy a pack of beer or a bottle or two of liquor on his way home. Suddenly when he was low, his "buddies" didn't seem as prolific. Oh how I remember the arguments. Daddy being incoherent and incapable of keeping a straight conversation but too stubborn to acknowledge it and just pressing away at his "point". It didn't matter what you said, you were wrong. There was no reasoning with Daddy. Depending on if was a certain date, or he was particularly angry, anyone tried to stay out of reach.
That's when I learned how to shout, how to not back down, how to flinch. Which parts of the scalp were most sensitive if you pulled one's hair, the most tender parts of a person's face, where on a throat to grab. I learned how to bite back tears, how to be cold.
But as I said, that was the exception, not the rule. I loved my Daddy. I wanted him home, I wanted to ride my bike with him, and play catch, practice with swords, wrestle, watch Tarzan and Charlie Chan. I wanted to sit up all night watching the classic Hammer Horror flicks, and listen to the stories he told that he truly believed were true. Daddy was my best friend, and I wanted him home with me not out with people who were only friends with him so long as they could use him.
I just had to convince him.
I tried a million different wordings of a million different phrases. I changed my tones and expressions and found out what worked and what didn't. I knew I had to be careful not to "sound like my mother" because he always stopped listening when he thought I did. I was thrilled when it worked, and crushed when it didn't. I can honestly say there's no feeling worse than when the person you care about most picks someone or something over you. Especially if it's a something. Some of my biggest trauma came from knowing I was an option to someone else. It twists your sense of self-worth. What's so wrong with you that you're less important. Should you have said or done something differently? Maybe you really just aren't that important. There are few pains that exceed that of a child who knows their parent chooses to be absent. I hated the people and things Daddy chose over me. I became resentful, suspicious, even apathetic to most people. You're only worth what they can get from you, the minute you don't benefit them they disappear. Gods, do I hate people. So superficial and greedy.
Then while I was in the tender molding hands of school I learned the terrible effects of my Daddy's other love: smoking. Once again, I put my skills of persuasion (my soon to be ex-husband likes the word manipulation) to work to try to get my Daddy to quit. I was terrified that eventually I was going to lose the most important person in my life to smoking. It didn't work. Once again, Daddy's substances were more dear to him than I was. Deeper crept in the guilt. Why couldn't I get Daddy to understand? What if I just explained it differently, tried harder?
It got oh so much worse later. The birthday I'll never forget. Too bad no wish could blow out that candle.
But by that time of course I'd found someone else I loved. Someone who I realized too late I was drawn to because they reminded me of Daddy. The good times were so amazing, but the cycle continued. It continued for a long time. I gave birth to my daughter, and son. I began to hear how much my daughter reminded everyone of me, and saw myself looking at me through her eyes.
It was unacceptable. So, I made the decision my mother couldn't; I stepped off the wheel. I can't say I saved him any more than I did Daddy, though I don't think that path is going to end in the same blaze; but I did free myself. I spent months in my own head, avoiding everyone, hitting the reset as it were. I reconnected with an old friend who helped jar a few other things into place.
Then, when I wasn't really quite ready, I started down a new path. Hopefully I find this one more pleasant, but at least I know to look for familiar road signs.
More to the point, I am not a direct product of my mother. It is my belief that she and I (possibly my Nana and Great Nana as well) are all products of the same man, carried over through generations as unfinished business. I'm simply accepting that sometimes people have to save themselves.
~Night Rose
