The Back Story

I left my husband, Broteus, of 12 years. We have 3 kids together: Anastasia, Amara ,and Angel. Up until 2016, I was a stay at home mom for 12 years. I didn't have many friends. My world was a mix of babies, housework, cooking, doctors appointments, outings, and 24 hour care for my kids. Broteus worked long hours. When he was not at work he was drinking, sleeping, camping, fishing, or hunting. My entire family has only ever seen him as a Saint. I don't have anything bad to say about his character. He is a good man in that he has ALWAYS financially provided for our children. Our kids never went without the things they needed and most of the things that they simply just wanted.

Our marriage, behind closed doors, was not always what it seemed on the outside. "Saving face" is a good way to refer to it. We had our problems. He was not present when the kids were babies up until Angel was about 8 years old. For years he would scream at the top of his lungs at our oldest child, Anastasia, when he was upset with her. He would berate and belittle her and have her in tears constantly. Their relationship was strained to say the least. My mother knew about the screaming and yelling. Sometimes I would be on the phone with her when he was doing it. Man, did it piss her off. My dad, always the silent one of the two, lost his mind a few times over it. Broteus was never around long enough to "help" me with the kids or even give me a minute to myself. For years I did not even shower or go to the bathroom without a baby on my hip or child playing on the floor. I couldn't even go to the bathroom with the door closed. I had no one but my mother and my grandmother to talk to about these things. My mother will tell you that she was always around, always helping, always there for me.... as a person to talk to, yes she was. But, as far as real physical care, concern, or help, she was never around. Her visits with her grandchildren consisted of her buying them things, bringing them to the house, staying for up to a half an hour, then leaving. At this point in my life I had never felt more alone. There was no end in sight. Who was I as a person? I wasn't. I was only a mother and a wife. I was a good wife. Broteus came home to his dinner plated and in the microwave every weeknight. It was rare that he was home in time to sit down and eat with the kids and I. That became the normal. What purpose did i have other than being a mother? I didn't. I lost myself. I became a mom when I was 17 years old. My junior year of high school I was pregnant and gave birth. That was a horrendous experience. But, I never blamed anyone other than myself. After all, I consented over and over and over again to have unprotected sex with Broteus. The other students, both ones I knew and ones I did not know, were downright cruel to me because I was pregnant. I lost ALL of my friends. Again, I only had myself to blame. Fast forward to 2016, I was about to find myself again. My kids were 12, 9, and 8 years old. Broteus was injured at work so he was off for a few months. While I worked he took care of getting the kids off to school during the week and I pulled a lot of doubles so I guess you could say he got a small taste of what he put me thru for 12 years. Only then did he realize that he had fucked up. He admitted that to me and said he was sorry. No one knows about that though. God forbid he would look like anything other than perfect to everyone on the outside.

Something happened to me the day that I gave birth to Anastasia. That was the very first time that I knowingly disassociated myself from reality. I found myself standing there watching everything that was happening but I couldn't feel it. I didn't feel pain, sadness, happiness, or fear. I felt no emotion. Not one single emotion, the entire time I was in labor. But, before I arrived at the hospital, I was terrified. When I heard my baby cry, I snapped back in to reality. I spent the next few months trying to figure out what happened that day. I was sad. I had postpartum depression. I remember sitting on the couch with my dad, he had his arm around me, and I was crying, over nothing. I was crying, and crying, for absolutely no reason. My Dad was always good at comforting me. He was always there for me. My dad had always known me better than anyone else, even my mother. I knew that I could go to him for any reason, any time. My mother had always been two faced. She would pretend to care until i was upfront and honest with her, then she would tell my grandmother and my aunts everything.

Unfortunately, my grandad died when I was 3 years old. He was the first, and last, person that had ever shown me absolute unconditional love. The man was a saint, for real. My grandmother put him through hell for the entirety of their marriage. She only married him so that she wasn't alone with 2 kids to raise on her own. She left him with the kids and went to Florida. She would leave him to make a point. She is where ALL of the mind games and manipulation began. She was physically abusive to my mother and her siblings and she enjoyed watching my grandad beat their kids when he got home from work for something as minuscule as not finishing all of the ketchup off of their plates. My mother was rarely physically abusive to me. It was the mental and emotional abuse that she was good at.

My mother's sister, was downright fucking cruel to me when i was a child and even in to my early twenties. You see, her daughter was very rebellious and didn't listen to my aunt. My aunt went through a lot of hard things in her life and I don't belittle that. She had to become the way that she was because of the hands she was dealt. She was envious of my mother and her "surface perfect" family. Somehow this adult woman saw it fit to be downright cruel to a child. She, many times, wouldn't let me play with my cousins because her daughter needed more attention than I did. But it was never a simple no. I would be on the steps going up to her apartment and she would be screaming at me. This aunt was also very envious of the relationship that my grandmother and I had. So much so that she would call me names and tell me that i was a little bitch and that I wasn't allowed to play with my cousin when she was over because her daughter, my other cousin, was always "left out". She even went as far as when after I had my kids she called me a slut and a piece of shit. Jealousy and Envy are not flattering on anyone. She still bad mouths me to this day. My own mother bad mouths me, too, though, so I guess that's acceptable.

My mother is and always has been a very self righteous, manipulative, controlling person. She had me when she was 15 years old. So, I can understand the resentment she has towards me for fucking up her childhood. But, here's the thing, my grandparents were the ones that took care of me while my mother still lived her normal-ish teenage life. How do you think she met my dad when i was less than a year old. But no one talks about or admits to these things. She never had a good thing to say about my biological father. Never. Every word out of her mouth about him and my paternal grandmother was negative and hateful. But kudos to her for allowing my paternal grandmother to take me on the weekends and fuck my head up even more than she did. She's a fucking Saint for that decision. But hey how else was she gonna get rid of me to have her perfect little whole 4 person family. I was the outcast. I never felt like I belonged there. My dad, not biological, always made me feel like apart of the family tho, so i guess on a small level i felt attached. Sure, my mother would buy me whatever I wanted and needed, but that was never enough for dealing with her head games and mental and emotional abuse. There is so much about my mother and her family that is so fucked up and corrupt that I could write an entire book just on that. I'm going to stop here tho because this book isn't about my mother or her fucked up secrets, lies, and bullshit. This book is about my current reality. What you just read, is just some of the back story. This book is my truth.