The Saints Of Mibba

Life is hobbling from one painful memory to another. You may not agree with me on that, but I can't say I care. Had you walked in my shoes, I'm willing to bet you'd think differently.

Please don't think that I want your pity. I despise your pity. I refuse to accept it, too. People ask me to tell them about myself, and about what happened throughout my life. When I tell them, they always give me the "Awh, I'm so sorry,". That means they don't know what to say. That means all they have to offer me is pity. If you're going to give me nothing but pity, please, just give me nothing at all. What I'd like instead of pity is understanding.

First, please understand that I have not had a 'traumatic' life. I never have been hit or physically abused by anyone. I've never had a boy break my heart. I've never been the girl whose reputation got ruined. Mine was always squeaky clean. Whether or not I deserve the clean reputation, I don't know, but anything I've ever done to disqualify me has always slipped under the radar. I tend to live my life under it, really. No one has hurt me physically. The only abuse I've had to deal with is emotional and mental. In a way, though, I'd say that is worse. The scars that leaves you with can't be shown to anyone. They just have to believe your word.

My word. For a long time, my word has meant nothing. It started when I was three. My parents were divorced already. They had been since I was a baby. Mom has told me that I was basically a test. She figured having me would be a nice little relationship quiz for her and Daddy. I would make or break them. It's always nice to see when people have their priorities straight. Anyway, when I was three, I went over to Dad's house every weekend and the rest of the time I lived with my mom. His words certainly meant nothing. He lied all the time about all the things he could think of. He said my grandparents would die very soon, so I shouldn't get close to them. They're still alive now, thirteen years later. He said my mother didn't love me. I'm ninety-nine percent sure that isn't true. He said he'd pick me up one day in his blue chevrolet and never make me leave him. He never did. He said he'd always be my dad and always be a part of my life. I haven't seen him in twelve years. Like I said. His word meant nothing. He was the first one to let me know mine didn't mean anything either.

It happened when I was on the phone with him. It was all words. My mom and him were fighting it out in court, because my mother found out that my step-mother was extremely abusive to her own daughter. She didn't want me to get beaten up like that girl had. So, there they were, battling for sole custody. My guardian was listening on the phone, as always, to gather any evidence there might be. I don't remember anything but this one moment of the conversation. My mother constantly made excuses for Dad's words that left me in tears. She said he had "problems", and that it wasn't his fault.

"You have problems, Daddy," I said in the calmest voice my three-year-old throat could muster.
"You're wrong," he'd growled back. He then went on as if nothing had happened. I'd told him all that I could see in him, and he wasn't shaken even for a moment. It was the first step in my evolution into a wordless, thoughtless drone. I got my last letter from him when I was seven, along with all my toys that I'd kept at his house. I was confused, but at the same time I knew I wouldn't hear from him again. Really, I didn't want to. The letters I got from him weren't written by him, but by my step-mother. He only signed at the bottom in a script that didn't match the letter. They were her words, not his. To me they meant nothing.

Next there was Jon. He is mom's fiance. Her first boyfriend since my father. They had divorvced when I was a baby. She dated Jon starting when I was twelve, and convinced I never would see the day she dated anyone. To say it completely shocked me would be the understatement of the century.

Don't get me wrong. I didn't object to him at first. It wasn't until one week after I met him and he started sleeping over that I didn't like their relationship. It wasn't until I was taken to Walgreens to buy mom's birth control. It wasn't until he started trying to run my life like the father I never had or wanted. It wasn't until then that their relationship sent me into a severe case of depression.

She loved him. He loved her. He hated me. She hated that I hated him back. She only saw how I treated him. Somehow his attitude towards me escaped her notice. I tried to tell her how worthless he made me feel, but really, by the time I said it she was in love. No one's words but his meant anything.

I found my comfort in the worst of friends. Her vodka, for one. My razor. Worst of all, I also found a boy named David. He was my best friend, or I thought so. He was my life. He was also my identity, and that was what ended up screwing me over.

I didn't know who I was. When you hate yourself for your thoughts and emotions, how can you? I hated that I hated my mother's fiance. I hated that I was starting to hate my own mother. I hated that I was not as pretty or thin as I should have been. I hated myself, from the inside out. That made it easy to change myself for someone I thought was worth it.

I knew nothing about music. I had no passion for anything, even that. He did, though. He was a huge Green Day and Metallica fan. I listened, I learned, I liked. I knew nothing about them. I just pretended to. I gave the obligatory "Yeah!" or the "Awesome!". I had no idea what I was talking about. He did love me for me, though. He loved my sarcasm, which I have definitely always been prone to. He loved the same TV shows. He was me. I just had to change myself a little more, that's all. Just had to change one more thing, and then I'd be perfect. Just one more thing...

It all worked until he decided I wasn't enough anymore. He had always made fun of "preps" as he called them. It was kind of odd to watch as he developed a major crush on a girl named Caitlynn, who was one of the biggest "preps" of all. It was painful to watch the one guy I would give anything to have love me abandon me. When I say abandon, it isn't an exaggeration. He did. He never spoke to me after the day he left the lunch table to talk to them. I don't hate "preps", though. Looking back, I guess it was fortunate they got him off my hands before I got sucked in any deeper.

Enter ninth grade. I was finally me again. A summer of healing made me sure nothing could bring me down. I had Jon and Mom to deal with, but I could handle it. Just don't ever let them see you cry and everything's fine, right? I'd also discovered music was my favorite drug. I stopped cutting and drinking, and threw myself into music. Playing, listening, composing. Mostly listening, though. My Chemical Romance was my favorite. They 'got' me. I would say more, but everyone knows that sense of belonging you get from a good band. Why preach to the choir?

Just when everything was going my way, things exploded at home. Mom started getting more and more defensive of Jon, and Jon got more and more pushy with me. He even started going through my room when I was away. I don't know why he does. Mom never let me go anywhere or do anything. She never had enough, either.

My grades weren't high enough. My room wasn't clean enough. I wasn't nice enough. I didn't do enough around the house. I was worthless. She started saying she didn't even care if I died. I cried myself to sleep nightly for months because of her. I know she loves me. Her love simply comes wrapped in needles and safety pins.

I started getting no sleep at night at all because of night terrors. I would see everyone I love die in the most painful, wretched ways, and I was being held back by cold hands that made me sit there and watch. Everything was coming down on me, and I was about to cave.

Enter New Years 2008. My mother called me. I was in Talahassee, visiting my old babysitter/the woman who basically raised me, Mama, and her husband and daughter Cathy. It was mostly because I missed them, of course, but also because I had to get away from my mother before I did something violent. No, really. Something violent.

She called, saying she was tired of having no relationship. That she really wanted to get along. Since then, we have been working on our relationship, and it has actually been a success for the most part. She still annoys the hell out of me, but what mother wouldn't?

And so here I am. Think this was long? I wish I could tell you everything, but that would take much more time, and I'm sure you're tired of hearing me whine. My point is that life is simply running from one pain to another. I've got a bandaid on now, and I'm just waiting for the next time someone yanks it off. It will happen. It's all a matter of time. The only thing I can say in 'advice' to you (because I'm sure you want it, right?) is this.

Live your life. Don't let someone else live it for you.
Live your life for you as you see fit.
Live your life as you, not as someone else. Why try to walk the long road in shoes that don't fit?

Finally, and most importantly, love your life. Cherish it. It's the only one you got. Make it count for more than some teardrops and complaints.