The plan was made, that night we would go out and ….

she was so unstable that - I shit you not - her and her elderly mother went out to the graveyard at midnight to put a curse on my unborn child and myself.

Hindsight is 20/20 they say, and while my eyesight was not that good, I totally should have seen right there that prom night was going to suck ass in the worst possible way.

In his final years, after my grandmother had passed, I finally got up the nerve and told my grandfather that if he ever touched one of my kids that I would kill him with my bare hands. It was a very freeing moment. One of those that stands as a turning point in my life.

I watched her being beaten. I watched her fighting him off. I watched him rip her clothes, force her down and, ultimately, force himself upon her. 

I watched it
and I did nothing
in my own house.

I can't even remember her fucking name. 

Somehow, on February 22, 2017,  I stumbled on a live feed of April, the giraffe, who was about to give birth.
At any minute they said...
They fucking lied!

It's not really sadness that I feel. I guess it's remorse? I wish that we had had just a moment where it felt like she cared. Maybe I just wish I had had that one 'motherly' moment with her. Or a moment of her opening up and telling me she regretted things. Or missed me, or thought about me, or was proud that I turned out okay...you know, all that kind of stuff.  No more maybes, right?

I'd hear the gun go off in my head a million times to try to prepare myself for what it might really sound like. I had fired a gun, I knew how loud it was. I imagined the kick back and the smell...I tried not to imagine the impact but it was really hard not to.

People were grabbing and yelling and hitting others and chaos was in full effect. There were way too many people in that block and too many unstable emotions mixing.

I fucked up a lot. SURPRISE! I would get busted for missing curfew, and for association violations all the time. See, when you are on probation you are not allowed to associate with other people on probation or parole. Well, that meant I couldn't be around the dude I was dating at the time. I might have also showed up to my therapist appointment drunk a couple of times - but it's their word against mine ;) See, I wasn't an alcoholic - but I might as well try, right? That's what they thought I was, wouldn't want to let them down. Basically I was self destructing and everything was coming to a head.

One night, I see a couple police officers come in, probably to feast on some of that high quality gourmet steak, only they didn't. They went to talk to the manager who then turned and pointed at me.  I must have looked like a deer in the headlights standing there with dirty dishes in my hands. They escorted me to an empty banquet room where they placed me under arrest and walked me out in cuffs. My career as a professional slop waitress was crushed in an instant.

It's funny how you assume you know exactly how you will feel or what you will think about when you find out someone you don't care about dies. 

You actually find out that all along you truly did care. And what you thought wouldn't effect you - actually does.  

It's hard to break old habits.  My insecurities still creep to the surface and I see myself as I was when I was much younger - and for no fucking reason at all.  It's like subconsciously I am always waiting and searching for some clue as to who's going to screw me over next so I can beat them to the punch.  

Worlds of Fun.  Man.  I fucking loved that place!  Just the anticipation coming around 435 highway straining your neck to see the balloon painted water tower to signify you were close...it was our version of Disneyland.

The saddest part is that, somewhere, in the back of my mind, I STILL thought that we might "go together".  That he really did like me and he just didn't want his friends to know.  That, somehow we were connected, I literally believed there was still a chance, I just hadn't done something right and I needed to try harder.

Ok, who the fuck takes a kid to a strip club?  I mean seriously?  WTF!  At the time I thought it was fucking awesome, but as a parent I'm completely horrified.

As a very young child I was taught that nothing was given for free.  There was a price for everything.  If I wanted to go to a friends house, if I wanted someone to come over, if I wanted a new toy, if I whatever...I just had to be there to give in order to get.

Love was not based on emotion, it was just a word.  "Love" was what you did to get what you wanted.

The after pain of the cut was sort of therapeutic. A constant reminder that the pain I was feeling was real.  That I was still there - I could still feel.  And the thing is - I had control of that pain.  I could decide how much to cut, when to do it, where on my body and when it would stop.  It was the only thing in my life I had control over.  It was my goto drug for many, many years.  

Julie and I put on our Girl Scout uniforms and decided to go door-to-door collecting for "Unicef".  Cuz we wanted money to buy something stupid that I don't even remember. 

I know, without a doubt that everyone will fuck you.  Every One.  I don't care who you are.  

Don't get me wrong, aside from the dark and dirty secrets, my grandparents were good to me, they provided well for me, and I loved them because they were all I had and I knew no different. They were FAR better than the alternative of growing up with the people who gave birth to me.

I was so convinced that clowning was what I wanted to do, I made my parents take me to the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Clown College when we went to Florida for vacation.  I was going to join the circus!