Before the worst, before we met... Before too late

I would never say that making friends came easy to me. It was always something that I was insecure about. I have a pretty amazing talent for rejecting myself before others can reject me. The sting from the rejection hurts less to me if I don’t allow it to begin with. It’s also a big reason why I probably never had any real healthy relationships with people in my early teen years. I never allowed people to close to me for fear that one day they would abandon me. I have major abandonment issues and I know its all because I have “mommy issues.”

When I was roughly 16-years-old and itching to get my drivers licenses I remember making a phone call to get a hold of my mom to schedule a time when she could take me to get my permit. Instead of living with my mother, who was staying at peoples houses and couch hopping, I was living with my older brother and his wife. Things with my mom where never good so when I was 15-years-old I had decided that enough was enough. I begged my grandmother to let me live with her and living with her eventually lead to me moving in with my older brother.

It was rough for me to adapt to living under his rules and having to actually listen to my older brother but during this time I also found a friend in my sister-in-law. The thing about her was when she talked to me, she talked to me like I had some idea of what to do. She talked to me and allowed me to talk as if I were an adult. She treated me respectfully and It was something different for me. It was something I needed.

So it was finally time for me to get my permit and I was thrilled. When I called the people that my mother was staying with, They informed me that she had moved, she had gone to Las Vegas. None of my siblings or I were aware of this until this moment. My mother had up and left without telling any of her children, 2 of which where still technically under her care as legal guardian.

This was the first incident where my mother literally left us for a different state. Prior to this incident she was constantly leaving us at our house under someone’s half-assed care and going out. For the first couple years of my life my Brother Daniel was in charge and he was only seven. Looking back on this I can’t help but feel so incredibly sorry for my brother. He lost quite a bit of a childhood by having to raise or help raise his younger siblings. So I struggle with being left behind.

The problem with this is that because I don’t want to be left I also have a hard time with letting go with the people I bring in to my life. Namely friends. I allow a lot of things to happen before I sever ties with an individual. When I make a friend, its generally for life. I’m pretty good at keeping in contact with people when they’ve moved or I have, but I can only do so much.

Lately, I’ve found myself less inclined to deal with peoples shit, to put it bluntly. I’m finding that I’m less interested in what others want and more interested in what I want. In situations where I would normally become emotional and angry, I find myself calmer. The anger still hits me, but I don’t react as I used to.

Little by little I’m letting people go.

Everyone's got their chains to break

It’s April and among the flowers and springing to be had, there is a dark shadow that looms over my head. April was the birth month of both of my grandparents and so their presence and lack of presence falls heavy on my mind.

My cousin Beth says I’m a tortured soul. She’s absolutely right. Most of the torture is the self abuse I put myself through which is more or less why I have this blog, it’s a sort of “public dear diary” minus the “today I met a boy and he was so cute…” or maybe that’s still included (See Get Your Head outta the clouds kid) But its more about a revelation in myself and being able to share myself without completely committing to the patient psychologist system.

I’m still not quite sure about paying someone to listen to me talk, so instead, since I’m poor, I cast my feelings out into the world wide web. Maybe I’m hoping to make a connection, or maybe I know that some day someone will stumble across my words and read them. But mostly, I type and write these things because as the Foo Fighter’s say “I’ve got another confession to make…”
And I do, something that has been lingering over my head for the past few years…

The death of my grandmother brought about a lot of hurt feelings. It brought the onset of families dividing and segregating because she was no longer the band aid that fixed the wounds she created. I say she created because my Grandmother, god bless her, was one of those people who chose favorites and choose sides. It was obvious who my grandma adored and who she tolerated. I don’t say that in the same tone that I would have years ago as a teenager burned by the classic Cinderella story happening in her family. Instead I say that as a girl who has learned to forgive and learned to understand the reasons behind the behavior. Make no mistake, my grandma loved each of her kids and grandchildren, some she just loved more and it was painfully obvious.

~*~*~

Once when I was living with my grandmother and my sister and I shared a room I remember a huge fight breaking out between my sister and I because she wanted the room to herself with her friends, and I wanted to stay in. Of course I was being the younger sister dying to tag along. Despite what I think now, I always wanted to hang out with my sister. I adored her, I even, dare-I-say-it-and-she-gets-an-ego, thought she was cool.

With this particular incident she told me I had to get out of the room and I refused. A few words were spit back and forth and me, lets face it having more wit said something to her that made her friends chuckle. This enraged my sister to the point where she came at me dumping her DQ blizzard all over me and screaming at me to get out. Embarrassed and upset by the whole ordeal I remember walking into my grandmother’s room and saying “Look what Cassie did to me.” Her exact words still cut to this day, “You probably deserved it.”
In that moment ice cream seeping down my sweater I felt the coldness, the inability to rationalize with her and I felt the favoritism sting in my already tear-filled eyes. This was a huge turning point in my teenage years for me. It was something that built this wall of hate. I hated my grandmother, but I loved her. I desperately sought her attention. I desperately wanted her to love me the same way she loved my sister. I wanted anyone to love me the same way; to protect and side with me. I spent the next years of my life harboring a teenage hate, rage and disappointment towards my grandmother, but again, I constantly sought her approval, but nothing ever seemed to be enough.

~*~*~

My confession comes back to our family. Growing up we always saw our cousins “The Crawfords” as the chosen few. As a Welch, I wanted to be them because they got to have a mother and a father and they got to have grandparents. I got to have grandparents that acted as my mother and father. My grandparents were responsible for everything we had including the clothes on our back, the food that we ate and the times we spent in church. They wanted us to have a fighting chance with our drug-addicted mother and they wanted desperately for their daughter to come around. We all did.
The problem on the other side of the pasture was The Crawfords saw the Welch’s as the chosen ones. We were the ones who my grandmother couldn’t leave despite the many pleas for her to move back to IL. She couldn’t leave us. She wouldn’t let us fall despite the maltreatment we gave her – We (Welch kids) were broken children from a broken home and our grandparents where the only real parents we knew, so they got heavily lashed with our poor behavior. They were too old to be raising children again. My grandfather just wanted to be retired. He wanted to enjoy being a grandfather, not a parent again.

To the other side, we were the ones causing wrong. And this became clear in an fight between my uncle and my sister after the passing of my grandmother. In his anger and hurt he told my sister he hated her, took a step back, blinked and said I hate what your mother has done or something to that effect.

That night, lines were officially drawn in the sand.

It’s constantly been this struggle of “they’re taking too much” or “I wanted this” its been a battle as we dismantle our grandmothers home. I’ll be honest when I say my siblings and are feeling a bit of resentment and a whole lot of unfairness in the breaking down of my grandparents estate.

That being said, my confession is that I took something from the house in my last visit. It was a radio. A radio I had said I wanted, I knew that both my aunt and uncle each had this radio already. First asked for it and then I waited. And waited. I was told “well see.” And then finally it was coming down to “What hasn’t been taken is up for grabs.” So I grabbed it.

The guilt lays thick on me because I confessed to my sister the day my plane was to take off and bring me back to New Jersey that I had taken the radio. “That’s not fair!” she shouted, “I took it and was told I had to bring it right back.”

I could feel the sinking in my heart. Logically, I was told I could take what I wanted, but mentally I felt the sting of doing something wrong.

Shortly after my return to New Jersey my aunt called me, I was unable to answer her call and she left me a message. I did not return her call. She called me again a few days later, again I was unable to take her call. She left a message. And again, I did not return her call. I figured it was about the radio and my conscious wasn’t ready to confront what I had done. Part of me was angry for having to justify taking it but part of me was scared. My intentions were not to steal property at all. Really, it’s a radio, it has no sentimental value what so ever, I have other things for that – it was just something I wanted. I saw everyone else getting things they wanted, so I took a step up and I took what I wanted.

So how come I feel so guilty? I’d gladly give the radio back if it meant the lines could be redrawn and I could feel my family become a whole rather than pieces that lay scattered on the floor.

And Lastly, “I’ve got another confession to make…” If I could have had a mother who raised me instead of my grandmother, I would have. I don't think people understand how sorry I am that my grandmother made the decision to stick by our side. I am thankful for it don’t get me wrong, but I confess I wish “The Crawfords” knew that it was her decision and not ours.

We were only children.

It doesn't matter who's wrong or who's right....

Here’s the thing. Weddings are ridiculous. I’ve always thought this. They’re ridiculous things that drive girls mad. There is all this talk of becoming a bridezilla or the stress of trying to figure out who to have in the wedding and if you want people at all. You alienate people if you don’t ask them and hurt feelings of people who thought they were closer. What about the stress of becoming a Friend-zilla? I think I may have become a Friend-zilla.

My friend Katie got married in March, the wedding was beautiful, I may have teared up a bit. It was the perfect princess wedding. The one we women all dream about as little girls. And even thought Katie was sick, she was still the most beautiful bride I’ve seen and the perfect man received her, the sparkles in his eye when she walked down the isle and the way he looked at her. It was perfect. The whole wedding made me want one of my own despite my own protest of it being the last legal form of slavery.

But then there are the weddings that happen and maybe it’s just me, but I may be slightly hurt that I’m not even a part of it. I mean, listen, it’s not that I feel like the world is all about me or anything. It’s just that when people claim that you are their only “Girl” friends and that the only people they talk to are you, your other close friend and their fiancé you think you might be some part of their wedding.

Take my friend Aubrey for example. I’ve been friends with this girl since 4th grade. I’ve kept in contact with her through all of her moves from 6th grade thru her graduation from college. I always considered her a close friend. Then she gets this boyfriend and some how she’s changed. She’s not the same Aubrey, she’s changed and it hurts to see this change. She’s no longer interested in anything other than this boy. Things progress and now this boy and her are engaged. I got a “save the date” thing in the mail the other day. I’m let down because I thought I meant more to this girl. But her life now revolves around the boy. To me, its unhealthy to be that wrapped up in someone, but it could just me being hurt.

And then there’s the case of Ashley, my “Little sister” I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t completely upset when she made her boss the Maid of Honor. I thought for sure this was going to be the one wedding I would be Maid of Honor for – I’ve known her so long and I again, thought we were closer than we actually were. Maybe that’s my mistake? When I wasn’t MOH, I then shut myself down; I didn’t want to be in it at all then. So I told her this and she accepted it. She didn’t fight it. She just simply said “okay.” At the time I thought of how she was wronging me. She didn’t ask me to be in her wedding, I just assumed and shot her down before she could. And technically her sister is Maid of Honor, but her sister is 13….And maybe what I’m really angry about is the fact that I’ve lost that place of her best friend. I know I’ve done some of it myself; I pushed myself this way or pushed myself that way and upset her. And she’s done the same. So, I’m sorry to her for the strangeness I’ve been feeling about this whole wedding.

You know what, maybe I’m so bent on being in someone’s wedding right now. Wait, that isn’t entirely true because I don’t want to be in people’s weddings because I don’t want to be the blob in the wedding pictures, but then again, I do.
I’m finding myself getting too wrapped up in the idea of being in a wedding and wanting to be that help for the bride, that I forget that weddings are about what the bride wants. And that brings me back to full circle. It’s hard to be a bride. It’s hard to make decisions on whom to have, what to wear, and which toes you are stepping on.

But in my defense, it’s hard to be a friend who gets passed up.

I’m officially Friend-zilla.

I think too highly of myself and place more importance on myself. I am officially admitting I am ridiculous. I apologize.

Heart and Soul, So Completely...

My boyfriend told me he read my blog and I got embarrassed. I’m okay with thousand of unknown faces possibly reading what I write, Im even kind of okay with some family members reading what sometimes is the very dark depths of my heart. But when my boyfriend told me he read my blog and that I hadn’t posted anything new, my face got red and my mind started spinning.

Why?

Why would I not want to share myself entirely with this guy? I mean I fell for him. Am I even allowed to say that on such a short length of a relationship? Am I jinxing it by even saying that I have fallen for him? Why does the thought of him reading my words, my thoughts my desires or my fears embarrass me?

I can only speculate the answer, wonder.

I know that when I write all my “twisted thoughts free flow…” And perhaps I want him to see me in a different light. A less broken, more held together light. Perhaps I don’t want to appear to be so open, so known. The walls I build and protect myself with are non-existent in this “world.”
Perhaps my problem lies into the fact that he’s not much of a talker, he doesn’t like to open up and like most guys he doesn’t want to share his feelings. And this kind of irritates me a lot. I don’t want to nag but at the same time I don’t want to be the only one to share myself, to open myself up to heartbreak, to pain or to the knowledge and acceptance of all of me.

“We are afraid to care too much, for fear that the other person does not care at all.”– Eleanor Roosevelt

Just like a picture with a broken frame...

I had a hard time being at the reception for the Scholarship I received from school. I had a hard time because I was looking around and seeing people with family and support, and I allowed myself to sink.

Don't get me wrong, I know I have family behind me, I know that across the states I have people there excited about my achievements. I totally see that, and I am aware of thier presence. I allowed myself to fall into self-pity for what I didn’t have. What I couldn’t have. Events like this always seem to get me and I can never accept them as they are. I’m never able to just say:

“Listen Jennie, you will never have your mom be there to receive you after you achieve something. You will not have parents to give you away when/if you ever get married just like your parents didn’t put a dedication for you in the back of your high school yearbook. These are not the cards you were dealt, deal with it and move on.”

No I can never just suck it up and be happy in the moment. Instead I look at what I didn’t have there. I didn’t have a support system. I didn’t have anyone cheering as my name was called and I took the stage and posed with my scholarship donators. It’s not like I can blame anyone, I’m the one who choose to move to a state where I hardly knew anyone. I’m the one who decided I didn’t need to be close to family. So why am I so shocked when I look out in an audience and no one is there looking back on me?
I guess what really hits me is the fact that growing up, despite my mother being such a selfish ass hole, she did encourage me. She did tell me she was proud of me for being so smart. She would brag to her friends about me and they would constantly tell me how bright she thought I was. My mother said she never had to worry about me scholastically because I was just one of those students that “got it.” She never had to tell me to do my homework, because it was always done. And in my stupid longing for a mother and acceptance I wanted her to be in the audience witnessing my first Scholarship, not because I didn’t have the money to do something (though that was part of it.) I got a scholarship because I focused, and I managed to maintain an awesome GPA. I have something to be proud of and in this moment, I wanted my mother there.

And that in and of it self disgusts me.