When does someone call it quits? When does someone say they just can’t take it no more? Then on the other hand, when does someone say they will just make the best of the situation? How about that was the hand I was dealt in life so just deal with it? Of course there are countless ways to ask these questions depending on the scenario and of course the individual.
Each of those questions have an easy, yet not so easy answer and it is entirely up to the individual faced with these questions to answer them. Not only do they have the choice to answer them anyway they want, but when do they face the situations or circumstances that had them ask these questions in the first place? To empower oneself not to look down on these circumstances and individuals, whereas being empowered to look those very things in the face and be humbled?
I am going to share different parts of my life with those who took the time to read this and hopefully someone gets something out of it. Let me start with an overview of myself and my conquest for answers. My name is Christopher, I am from Maryland, I have a younger brother, and our parents are divorced after 20+ years of marriage. It’s almost the end of 2018, so I think it is safe to say this all sounds normal so far, correct? The funny thing is the normality of this family was far from it during the conception of it.
Before I continue I must inform the readers that I searched for years and asked countless questions to people that were family, not family, old friends of relatives that knew them before I was conceived. All this searching to better understand these people that raised me and called me their son, their child and to say they loved me. To only find out things no child should ever know about their mother, father or whomever raised them.
My doubts about my identity, started at the age of five due to my mother’s youngest nephew Rob. Rob took it apon himself to start telling me about some other guy being my father and that Patrick was just a guy that my mom convinced he was the father. That moment was followed up by a five year old asking his mother if the guy he called dad was really his dad or not. With her just to tell me Rob was out of his fucking mind and not to believe a word that came out his mouth. Rose’s reaction triggered a memory that raised even my doubt. I recalled a year prior to this, my mother with the assistance of her mother Karan, actually kidnapped me from Patrick while he was holding my little brother outside of an Ames store (similar to K-Mart but back in the early 90’s). I recall them speeding away and us going on a long drive to her mother’s trailer. That in itself became a nightmare leading to the both of them telling me to go outside to play with the other kids on the block, and during a game of hide and seek I was locked in a shed following laughter of the kids. That very moment created my fear of dark tight spaces and the doubt of love coming from my mother.
To Be Continued:
Post 1, 11/28/2018
“You do have a story inside you; it lies articulate and waiting to be written behind your silence and your suffering.” Anne Rice