I feel good that I'm entering a place in my life where I no longer feel this bitter, intense anger toward my mother. Now I sort of just don't give a shit. It happened. Sometimes I still get really angry, like when I get bills for $2,000 for expired accounts that I've never opened. Which brings me to the following story: my mother committed identity theft in my name.
She did the same thing to my older brother. When I turned 18, she began taking out credit cards in my name and opening bank accounts. She rarely got bank accounts in her own name. First because she's sketchy, and second I think she probably owes every bank in the entire world some money. She would sweetly say that I had just turned 18 and she was trying to build credit for her daughter (she has told me this, and still to this day maintains she was just trying to build my credit). She'd pay the minimum balance on the credit cards until the minimum balance became too much, and then she'd just stop paying. She didn't have insurance, and oxycontin is severely expensive without it, she'd use credit cards in my name to pay for her drugs. She completely lived off of them, and would often go on spa weekends when she had absolutely no money. She always wanted to be rich, and would've been if she would've just been smarter about all the money she stole from my dad.
One day she showed up at the house my brother and I were living in (it was technically her house. 50% belonged to my dad and 50% to my grandmother. My grandmother was terrified of her and my mom forced her to sign over her 50%. My dad put his 50% in a trust for my brothers in I, but stupidly had my mom draw up the papers. So while the trust is in our names, she is the trustee and has all control) with a stack of papers to discuss my buying the house for around $350,000 (it was worth nowhere near this much, in her attempts to "fix it up" on her own, she made it look like a tacky piece of shit). I told her there was absolutely no way I was buying the house, I was 19 and had no money and no job. She told me I had to buy it, that we'd been discussing that I would buy the house for a year (couldn't tell if she was just being nuts or if this was one of her drug delusions). This is when she told me that she had built my credit up to the minimum credit score allowed for me to buy a house. She'd been trying to sell it for years; I told her it was pretty pathetic that she'd try to force her daughter into buying a house (that is half mine!) for an escalated value just so that she could get some money.
Now I'm 22. I would love to buy a house one day soon, but despite my attempts, creditors make it unbelievably easy to commit identity theft, and even after you've proved it, all that matters to them is money. I had an investigator talk to me once after I filed the police report. She told me that we'd repair my credit and my mom would get what she had coming to her. I never spoke to that woman again. Not because I didn't try. I've disputed all the items on my credit report that aren't mine, which is everything because I've never applied for a credit card or had anything like a cell phone in my own name. At this rate, and with the incompetent cops of Montgomery County who only care about busting low profile weed dealers trying to get by and high school parties, and in a capitalistic society that only values money, I'll probably never be able to buy my own home. Or car. Or anything. I'm still trying though.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
When I was fifteen I experienced my first bout of heartbreak. His name was Pat (probably the grossest name for a male ever). He was three years older and in a band. Naturally, I thought we were going to be together forever. In hind sight he was a douche bag, which I can appreciate now because I learned from it. We started dating when I was fourteen, and it last for about a year, which in teenage girl terms is roughly four years. For the latter half of our relationship he treated me pretty poorly, and ended up leaving me for a girl his own age when he was at beach week. The day a friend told me he was hanging out with her at beach week, the same day he broke up with me, I was crushed. It felt awful and I was convinced I wasn't going to find anyone else. I was retarded. But instead of letting me deal with it, my mother barged into my room and demanded to know every detail of what happened even though I didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to know the details because she was concerned, she wanted to know because she was a nosy bitch that loved to gossip.
In the months following the breakup I was pretty sad, normal stuff. I didn't eat as much. I have been blessed with a speedy metabolism, so I used to eat Mcdonald's and Taco Bell constantly, and just didn't anymore. My mother took this opportunity to decide I was anorexic. One morning when I was making cereal my mom came in and started freaking out about how I wasn't eating (ironic huh?). She was screaming and cursing at me at the top of her lungs, as usual. She knocked my full bowl of cereal out of my hands and onto the floor, where the glass bowl shattered. She continued to scream at me and push me in the mess. I didn't have shoes on.
She was always obsessed with being skinny and anorexic. She would boast about having an eating disorder and I wanted to tell her that eating a ton of pills and forgetting to eat actual food does not an eating disorder make. When I was twelve she started making me go to the gym everyday, because even though I wans't fat, I "have the potential to be." She got me a personal trainer, but after a while she would just drop me off there, sometimes not picking me up until they closed, at 10. But mostly making me take cabs home, who were unrealiable, especially since I didn't have a cell phone and constantly had to borrow the gym's phone. It was horribly embarrassing. Eventually I got a job at the gym. The woman I worked with at the front desk, Rita, was in her forties, one of the worst gossips I've ever met and devoutly religious. She'd read the bible and go to church all the time, despite treating me like shit and telling me I wasn't allowed to sign up new members (I later found out this was because we made commission off of them). Gyms are already gossipy places. So when I walked in one day and everyone was staring at me out of the corner of their eyes and then whispering to their chubby companions on the stair master, I knew something was up.
I was sitting at the desk reading when Rita came up and in a sickeningly sweet voice slid a power bar over to me "Here, I bought this for you." I was furious. I knew my mother, who gossiped with her regularly, and talked shit about her regularly had called to spread the rumor. When I got home I demanded to know who she told, "God, you're such a drama queen, I only told Rita." Though she knew perfectly well that calling Rita and randomly telling her this lie would ensure that everyone I worked with would think I was anorexic. It still just seems to me that her goal was to make every facet of my life as miserable as she could.
In the months following the breakup I was pretty sad, normal stuff. I didn't eat as much. I have been blessed with a speedy metabolism, so I used to eat Mcdonald's and Taco Bell constantly, and just didn't anymore. My mother took this opportunity to decide I was anorexic. One morning when I was making cereal my mom came in and started freaking out about how I wasn't eating (ironic huh?). She was screaming and cursing at me at the top of her lungs, as usual. She knocked my full bowl of cereal out of my hands and onto the floor, where the glass bowl shattered. She continued to scream at me and push me in the mess. I didn't have shoes on.
She was always obsessed with being skinny and anorexic. She would boast about having an eating disorder and I wanted to tell her that eating a ton of pills and forgetting to eat actual food does not an eating disorder make. When I was twelve she started making me go to the gym everyday, because even though I wans't fat, I "have the potential to be." She got me a personal trainer, but after a while she would just drop me off there, sometimes not picking me up until they closed, at 10. But mostly making me take cabs home, who were unrealiable, especially since I didn't have a cell phone and constantly had to borrow the gym's phone. It was horribly embarrassing. Eventually I got a job at the gym. The woman I worked with at the front desk, Rita, was in her forties, one of the worst gossips I've ever met and devoutly religious. She'd read the bible and go to church all the time, despite treating me like shit and telling me I wasn't allowed to sign up new members (I later found out this was because we made commission off of them). Gyms are already gossipy places. So when I walked in one day and everyone was staring at me out of the corner of their eyes and then whispering to their chubby companions on the stair master, I knew something was up.
I was sitting at the desk reading when Rita came up and in a sickeningly sweet voice slid a power bar over to me "Here, I bought this for you." I was furious. I knew my mother, who gossiped with her regularly, and talked shit about her regularly had called to spread the rumor. When I got home I demanded to know who she told, "God, you're such a drama queen, I only told Rita." Though she knew perfectly well that calling Rita and randomly telling her this lie would ensure that everyone I worked with would think I was anorexic. It still just seems to me that her goal was to make every facet of my life as miserable as she could.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
sporty spice
One of the sports I was forced to participate in was swimming. I hated it. I loved to swim, don't get me wrong, and I adore being in water, but I hated doing it competitively. At some point when I was pretty young, it was discovered that the one stroke I was good at was breast stroke. I pretty much sucked at everything else in comparison. Joanna latched on to this. After this discovery, I was swimming year round, sometimes twice a day, before and after school. I did both summer and winter swim. After school I'd go to practice for baseball, or soccer and then on to swimming. I never had any time for homework, or to eat. Not that my mom ever helped with homework or bought groceries. The worst part of it was that my mom was a lazy piece of shit. By this I mean I would finish with swim practice in the evening and literally wait anywhere from one to three hours for her to show up to pick me up. She didn't have anything more important to do, she was just lazy about picking me up. And it was winter. In Maryland! I'd wait for her for so long inside the pool, that eventually it would close and they'd have to ask me to step outside. I knew they felt bad asking, and it was embarrassing being the only kid on the team with a neglectful parent. So I would wait outside in the freezing cold, a little kid, with long wet hair and clothes from swim practice. And then came high school.
I went to a private Catholic high school in DC with a diligent ROTC program. My mother made me join the ROTC program because it apparently would look good on a resume (not if you constantly failed the class and they said to leave the program or be kicked out) and because if there was ever a war and a draft was enacted I'd be a high ranking official. Seriously. Another one of her requirements that was that I joined the swim team, which I expected. St. John's didn't have a pool on campus, so we'd swim at the Montgomery College campus in Takoma Park. Takoma Park is an old, beautiful hippie type neighborhood with lots of big Victorian houses. Like so many neighborhoods in the greater DC area, you'd walk a block and be in the shitty part of Takoma Park, which included lots of crime and drug deals. So while the pool wasn't in a bad area, the walk to the metro was. Again, while all my friends got picked up from practice in the middle of winter, my mom, who had nothing else to do, told me to walk. I had no idea how to get to the metro, it was always dark and I'd often get lost. So I'd wander around Takoma Park (the bad part) in my flimsy Catholic school girl uniform (by this point I'd dropped ROTC and wore the regular super short plaid skirt and white polo), wet from practice searching for the metro. I was old enough to start taking my driving classes, but Joanna refused. One particularly cold night I remember, it took me about 3 hours to get home. I walked in the door, freezing cold, drained, tired and overall just emotionally exhausted. I had so much hate for my mother, I knew she was a piece of shit, and I had no way out. I always felt trapped. She was sitting on the couch reading or watching tv or something.
"I need to take that driving class. Seriously. It took me three hours to get home and I'm fucking freezing." I said this calmly. I only ever started to yell after she did, which was basically all of the time.
"I don't think you're mentally stable enough to have a car." When I was a child, hell, even until I was a teenager, I was never allowed to have a bike, literally because my mom would tell me it was a mode of transportation. And I had this dug addled crazy person telling me I was too unstable to drive a car? This makes me mad even writing it.
"What the fuck are you talking about? I have to wander around the bad part of Takoma and in the middle of winter soaking wet. I'll pay for the classes."
I don't remember the dialogue from there so I won't try to reenact it. I do remember that it turned into a screaming match, she could give me no valid explanation for not letting me go to driving school, she hit me, and I ended up outside on our deck hysterically crying. I called my friend Raph to pick me up. She took me to her house, fed me vegan desserts and ran me a bath. She dropped me off back at my house later that night, where I passed out in bed, thinking of how much I hated this aspect of my life, and fantasizing about its nonexistence.
I went to a private Catholic high school in DC with a diligent ROTC program. My mother made me join the ROTC program because it apparently would look good on a resume (not if you constantly failed the class and they said to leave the program or be kicked out) and because if there was ever a war and a draft was enacted I'd be a high ranking official. Seriously. Another one of her requirements that was that I joined the swim team, which I expected. St. John's didn't have a pool on campus, so we'd swim at the Montgomery College campus in Takoma Park. Takoma Park is an old, beautiful hippie type neighborhood with lots of big Victorian houses. Like so many neighborhoods in the greater DC area, you'd walk a block and be in the shitty part of Takoma Park, which included lots of crime and drug deals. So while the pool wasn't in a bad area, the walk to the metro was. Again, while all my friends got picked up from practice in the middle of winter, my mom, who had nothing else to do, told me to walk. I had no idea how to get to the metro, it was always dark and I'd often get lost. So I'd wander around Takoma Park (the bad part) in my flimsy Catholic school girl uniform (by this point I'd dropped ROTC and wore the regular super short plaid skirt and white polo), wet from practice searching for the metro. I was old enough to start taking my driving classes, but Joanna refused. One particularly cold night I remember, it took me about 3 hours to get home. I walked in the door, freezing cold, drained, tired and overall just emotionally exhausted. I had so much hate for my mother, I knew she was a piece of shit, and I had no way out. I always felt trapped. She was sitting on the couch reading or watching tv or something.
"I need to take that driving class. Seriously. It took me three hours to get home and I'm fucking freezing." I said this calmly. I only ever started to yell after she did, which was basically all of the time.
"I don't think you're mentally stable enough to have a car." When I was a child, hell, even until I was a teenager, I was never allowed to have a bike, literally because my mom would tell me it was a mode of transportation. And I had this dug addled crazy person telling me I was too unstable to drive a car? This makes me mad even writing it.
"What the fuck are you talking about? I have to wander around the bad part of Takoma and in the middle of winter soaking wet. I'll pay for the classes."
I don't remember the dialogue from there so I won't try to reenact it. I do remember that it turned into a screaming match, she could give me no valid explanation for not letting me go to driving school, she hit me, and I ended up outside on our deck hysterically crying. I called my friend Raph to pick me up. She took me to her house, fed me vegan desserts and ran me a bath. She dropped me off back at my house later that night, where I passed out in bed, thinking of how much I hated this aspect of my life, and fantasizing about its nonexistence.
baksetball
When Joanna had kids and we were old enough to walk and understand basic English, she basically made us her slaves. First it was with my older brother until he got too pissed off and hateful and then just refused, then it was me until I got too pissed off and hateful, and lastly my youngest brother (though it was constantly my grandmother, her own mother, who did every little thing for her because she was terrified of her own daughter, until she moved out). If she was sitting on the couch and her purse was literally five feet away from her, she would call on me, often while I was outside, or a completely different part of the house to hand her her purse, or get her a Xanax, or whatever she wanted. It was absolutely ridiculous, and it was constant. This happened non stop all day, and she'd be enraged if I didn't respond quickly enough.
When I was in middle school, I want to say sixth grade, she was driving me so basketball practice. She enrolled me in any and every sport, no matter how much I hated it or sucked at it (and I sucked at most) because she was afraid I would get fat. Also, she had decided this was the only way I could make something of myself and my profession would be that of a famous athlete. When I would miss a practice or do poorly in a game, as soon as we'd get in the car she would lose her mind about how I was throwing my life away...this started in about fourth grade.
On the way to basketball practice she was fumbling around in the center compartment of the car and then stated,
"There's no chapstick in here." I nodded my head in acknowledgement. I knew she was telling me to find her the chapstick but it infuriated me that she didn't even have the decency to ask. Again she said it,
"Did you hear me? There's no chapstick in here." Each syllable was pronounced harshly, she was pissed I didn't immediately start searching for some chapstick.
"Ok." I said quietly and calmly.
Then the backside of her closed fist connected with my face. She was a fan of the "backhand." She was always threatening them, but she refused to acknowledge that a closed backhand was a punch. She almost ran the car off the road, one hand on the wheel and the other hitting me as I tried to protect my face and my head, my head tucked to my knees while I began hysterically crying. I always wanted to be one of those strong silent types that could get through it all without crying, but I never was.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" She screamed, "How could you do this to me?"
Naturally, I had no idea what the fuck that crazy bitch was talking about. I would've tried to respond, to tell her that the only thing I did was not grab the chapstick, but it would've just made her more angry. And now looking back, I don't think it was about the chapstick, I think she knew that the act of not finding her fucking chapstick was my act of rebellion. Most kids pierce something or sneak out in the middle of the night.
She stopped hitting me and continued driving to my school, my little brother was there anyway and we had to pick him up. She screamed at me the whole way, calling me a fucking bitch and the like, though she did say I wasn't going to basketball practice, so I was thankful for that. When we got to my school she told me to wait in the car while she picked up my little brother.
"Don't even think about running away. Who do you think will want you? You have nothing and no one, no one wants you and no one in this world will help you."
She told me this regularly. I know now it was to alienate me, and to scare me. It worked. When social workers would come to school and ask me questions, I was always afraid to say yes, my mother does hit me and no, she does not feed me.
When I was in middle school, I want to say sixth grade, she was driving me so basketball practice. She enrolled me in any and every sport, no matter how much I hated it or sucked at it (and I sucked at most) because she was afraid I would get fat. Also, she had decided this was the only way I could make something of myself and my profession would be that of a famous athlete. When I would miss a practice or do poorly in a game, as soon as we'd get in the car she would lose her mind about how I was throwing my life away...this started in about fourth grade.
On the way to basketball practice she was fumbling around in the center compartment of the car and then stated,
"There's no chapstick in here." I nodded my head in acknowledgement. I knew she was telling me to find her the chapstick but it infuriated me that she didn't even have the decency to ask. Again she said it,
"Did you hear me? There's no chapstick in here." Each syllable was pronounced harshly, she was pissed I didn't immediately start searching for some chapstick.
"Ok." I said quietly and calmly.
Then the backside of her closed fist connected with my face. She was a fan of the "backhand." She was always threatening them, but she refused to acknowledge that a closed backhand was a punch. She almost ran the car off the road, one hand on the wheel and the other hitting me as I tried to protect my face and my head, my head tucked to my knees while I began hysterically crying. I always wanted to be one of those strong silent types that could get through it all without crying, but I never was.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" She screamed, "How could you do this to me?"
Naturally, I had no idea what the fuck that crazy bitch was talking about. I would've tried to respond, to tell her that the only thing I did was not grab the chapstick, but it would've just made her more angry. And now looking back, I don't think it was about the chapstick, I think she knew that the act of not finding her fucking chapstick was my act of rebellion. Most kids pierce something or sneak out in the middle of the night.
She stopped hitting me and continued driving to my school, my little brother was there anyway and we had to pick him up. She screamed at me the whole way, calling me a fucking bitch and the like, though she did say I wasn't going to basketball practice, so I was thankful for that. When we got to my school she told me to wait in the car while she picked up my little brother.
"Don't even think about running away. Who do you think will want you? You have nothing and no one, no one wants you and no one in this world will help you."
She told me this regularly. I know now it was to alienate me, and to scare me. It worked. When social workers would come to school and ask me questions, I was always afraid to say yes, my mother does hit me and no, she does not feed me.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
two in one day, i'm bored at work.
One of the worst things my mom has ever done she had done to my father. They started a lead and asbestos removal company in the 80's. They had a lot of large jobs, including government contracts. I don't know why I'm saying "they" because that would imply that my mother was an active part of the company and actually contributed anything. What I mean to say is that my father built this company from the ground up, and my mother ran it into the ground.
The company was very successful, they had a lot of money. Joanna, however, began stealing the money in large quantities, and wasting it. She'd give it to whichever of her white trash friends asked her for a loan, she'd give it to whatever piece of shit she was sleeping with. He would go to pay his workers and she would have taken the money from the account. Eventually my father pulled out, he left the company, and left her to run it. So naturally, it ended in bankruptcy. One time she took fifty thousand dollars my grandmother was left with when her husband died. My dad has worked hard all of his life, he should be retired in a nice house. Instead he's almost sixty, a survivor of two massive strokes, and working his ass off every single day doing HVAC.
When my dad had the two strokes, he was out of commission for quite a while. During this time my mother took out credit cards in his name and never paid them off. She had already ruined her own credit, as well as my grandmother's. She would go on to ruin my big brother's credit by taking out credit cards in his name, and eventually she ruined mine. When I turned 18 she began taking out credit cards and opening accounts in my name. I didn't know it was going on before it was too late. Now I'm 22, finally in a position where I can go to school, but my credit is awful. I'll never be able to buy a house, or a car, or any significant purchases really. I've told the cops, lawyers, credit bureaus, filed a police report, everything. Nothing has been done and my credit is still shit. No one cares, companies only want their money and say they don't believe me. They do, they just don't care.
Her explanation for ruining my credit is that she was building it up so that when I was 19 I could buy her house for $375,000 (after her fucking it up it was worth nowhere near this). And part of the house is mine. My dad and grandmother bought the house, Joanna forced my grandmother to sign over her half. My dad put his half in a trust for my brothers. My mom's lawyer set up the trust...she is the trustee. My dad's only stipulation when putting the house in our names was that my mother not be able to gain control of the trust, guess he should've read the paperwork before he signed. And why the fuck would a 19 year-old with no job buy a house that is partially hers for an inflated price? She claims we had been talking about doing so for over a year, but in reality she very regularly makes these things up in her head and believes them. Maybe it helps her sleep at night.
The company was very successful, they had a lot of money. Joanna, however, began stealing the money in large quantities, and wasting it. She'd give it to whichever of her white trash friends asked her for a loan, she'd give it to whatever piece of shit she was sleeping with. He would go to pay his workers and she would have taken the money from the account. Eventually my father pulled out, he left the company, and left her to run it. So naturally, it ended in bankruptcy. One time she took fifty thousand dollars my grandmother was left with when her husband died. My dad has worked hard all of his life, he should be retired in a nice house. Instead he's almost sixty, a survivor of two massive strokes, and working his ass off every single day doing HVAC.
When my dad had the two strokes, he was out of commission for quite a while. During this time my mother took out credit cards in his name and never paid them off. She had already ruined her own credit, as well as my grandmother's. She would go on to ruin my big brother's credit by taking out credit cards in his name, and eventually she ruined mine. When I turned 18 she began taking out credit cards and opening accounts in my name. I didn't know it was going on before it was too late. Now I'm 22, finally in a position where I can go to school, but my credit is awful. I'll never be able to buy a house, or a car, or any significant purchases really. I've told the cops, lawyers, credit bureaus, filed a police report, everything. Nothing has been done and my credit is still shit. No one cares, companies only want their money and say they don't believe me. They do, they just don't care.
Her explanation for ruining my credit is that she was building it up so that when I was 19 I could buy her house for $375,000 (after her fucking it up it was worth nowhere near this). And part of the house is mine. My dad and grandmother bought the house, Joanna forced my grandmother to sign over her half. My dad put his half in a trust for my brothers. My mom's lawyer set up the trust...she is the trustee. My dad's only stipulation when putting the house in our names was that my mother not be able to gain control of the trust, guess he should've read the paperwork before he signed. And why the fuck would a 19 year-old with no job buy a house that is partially hers for an inflated price? She claims we had been talking about doing so for over a year, but in reality she very regularly makes these things up in her head and believes them. Maybe it helps her sleep at night.
After my mom and little brother moved out of the house it was my older brother and I living there. We occasionally had roommates she would find. The longest of which were Mikey and Tyler, they smoked crack (literally). Another story for another time. There wasn't furniture throughout, although our rooms were still furnished. After she moved out she decided to fix our house up and sell it. Her fixing the house up consisted of snorting a veritable shit ton of adderall, staying up all night and trying to do jobs that licensed contractors should've been doing. She would regularly wake me up at 3 in the morning demanding I help her tile the kitchen or "get the fuck out." She had been doing this since I was a kid, she'd wake me up in the middle of the night to clean the dishes I hadn't washed properly the first time or to start a project for school that was due in three weeks. Anyway, it's important to note that she has absolutely no taste, and the house is just about the tackiest piece of shit in the entire world. It could've actually been a nice house, it's six bedrooms, has a huge deck, etc. Outside of the front door she put up a little Virgin Mary statue to give the impression that she was a good person. She also put conch shells along the garden and walkway to the house. Her drug addiction just got worse and worse, she eventually just ended up painting and repainting every room in the house a million different colors and a means of "fixing it up."
She was still living in Edgewater but was still coming down very frequently to fuck up the house. One time she came down in the middle of the day, I would be turning twenty in four or so months so it was probably around October or November. I know it was cold. She was high as a kite and apparently couldn't find her pills. She did this often, took all of her pills and didn't remember. She'd tell her doctor they were stolen so she could get another prescription. This time she started accusing my brother and I of stealing her pills. "Give me my pills you stupid fucking bitch or get the fuck out of my house." Then she called the cops, which I encourage. When the cop got there she told him her looney story about how my brother stole her pills, then how I stole them. She couldn't keep her story straight and the cop saw through her. I calmly explained to him that she did this so she could get another prescription. "Get her the fuck out of my house." And that was it. He told me I had to go. I'd been kicked out several time before but it wasn't permanent, she didn't live there so I still could. This time I was really banned, which sucked because I had no job, no car and nowhere really to go. My brother and I ended up at our grandmother's apartment, an efficiency, not even a one bedroom. I gathered my most favorite clothes into a large trashbag, the clothes I wore the most. They were all I had really. Hell, I might've been homeless but at least I would be well dressed. When I went back for everything else, my t-shirts, expensive ski clothes, everything of mine was gone. It sucked but I parted with it okay.
Living at my grandmother's was no picnic. I felt bad to invade her space, but I think she was lonely anyway and enjoyed having us. I hadn't met my boyfriend, Mike at this point and started to turn my life around yet, so most of this time was spent partying with friends. I spent a lot of time with my friend, Joel, who was going through a break up. We got drunk just about every single night. Surprisingly I wasn't unhappy. I just fell into the pattern of drinking excessively. Don't get me wrong, I had nothing and wasn't satisfied with not being in school or having a job, but life could've been worse and I knew it.
My grandmother's building manager eventually caught on to the fact that we were living there and kicked us out. Then I really had nowhere to go. I hated to impose on my friends and my dad wasn't an option, as he had moved to Edgewater so he could be close to my little brother. The building manager was coming by one day to make sure all of our things were out of the apartment, so in an act of desperation I called Joanna. She had essentially been kicked out of the house in Edgewater and was living in a nice hotel nearby. I asked her to come pick me up. She was high, naturally. I had all of my clothes with me and I put them in her car. We went to her hotel. I can't remember what the hell she started yelling at me about but we ended up in a huge fight. I had been drinking and had some beers in my purse. I told her I'd be back for my clothes and I left. As I was walking away from the hotel contemplating my next move and who I could call, I saw two cops driving toward me. I knew she had called the cops on me but wasn't sure why. There was a hill next to me that I basically threw myself down to hide. I was still underage, and on top of that on probation for a DUI I got when I was 19. She knew this. I don't know how long I stayed there. It was wet. It was spring and the night was cold. Eventually I thought they had to be gone, I didn't hear any cars and hadn't in a while. Stupid me.
Just as I had walked up the hill a cop pulled up.
"We've been looking everywhere for you!" Ugh.
They took me back up to my mom's hotel room. When she say me she exclaimed, "I've been so worried! Are you okay?" She always did this in front of societal figures, cops, doctors, teachers. She would put on this fake, sweet voice and pretend that she actually cared if I lived or died. It made me unbelievable angry. It turns out she had called the cops and told them I threatened to commit suicide and left. She had started this when I was about 14. She would kick me out of the house but then call the cops and tell them I was threatening to kill myself. This, however, turned out to be beneficial to me. The cops felt sorry for me and didn't arrest me for the beer in my purse. I told them I refused to stay with her, and just when the cops were escorting me out she said "Do you need any money sweetheart?" I did. But I was too prideful to take it.
When I went back to pick up my clothes she had no recollection of my leaving them with her. She vaguely remembered giving her crackhead (again, literal) sister some of my clothes, but wasn't sure. I only had the clothes I was wearing and a few items at my grandmother's. All of my pretty clothes that I had worked and saved to buy were gone. My graduation and prom dresses, my bras and underwear, my professional clothes, my I Heart Boxed Wine shirt, everything. I didn't have money to buy more. I think this time period in my life was my bottom.
She was still living in Edgewater but was still coming down very frequently to fuck up the house. One time she came down in the middle of the day, I would be turning twenty in four or so months so it was probably around October or November. I know it was cold. She was high as a kite and apparently couldn't find her pills. She did this often, took all of her pills and didn't remember. She'd tell her doctor they were stolen so she could get another prescription. This time she started accusing my brother and I of stealing her pills. "Give me my pills you stupid fucking bitch or get the fuck out of my house." Then she called the cops, which I encourage. When the cop got there she told him her looney story about how my brother stole her pills, then how I stole them. She couldn't keep her story straight and the cop saw through her. I calmly explained to him that she did this so she could get another prescription. "Get her the fuck out of my house." And that was it. He told me I had to go. I'd been kicked out several time before but it wasn't permanent, she didn't live there so I still could. This time I was really banned, which sucked because I had no job, no car and nowhere really to go. My brother and I ended up at our grandmother's apartment, an efficiency, not even a one bedroom. I gathered my most favorite clothes into a large trashbag, the clothes I wore the most. They were all I had really. Hell, I might've been homeless but at least I would be well dressed. When I went back for everything else, my t-shirts, expensive ski clothes, everything of mine was gone. It sucked but I parted with it okay.
Living at my grandmother's was no picnic. I felt bad to invade her space, but I think she was lonely anyway and enjoyed having us. I hadn't met my boyfriend, Mike at this point and started to turn my life around yet, so most of this time was spent partying with friends. I spent a lot of time with my friend, Joel, who was going through a break up. We got drunk just about every single night. Surprisingly I wasn't unhappy. I just fell into the pattern of drinking excessively. Don't get me wrong, I had nothing and wasn't satisfied with not being in school or having a job, but life could've been worse and I knew it.
My grandmother's building manager eventually caught on to the fact that we were living there and kicked us out. Then I really had nowhere to go. I hated to impose on my friends and my dad wasn't an option, as he had moved to Edgewater so he could be close to my little brother. The building manager was coming by one day to make sure all of our things were out of the apartment, so in an act of desperation I called Joanna. She had essentially been kicked out of the house in Edgewater and was living in a nice hotel nearby. I asked her to come pick me up. She was high, naturally. I had all of my clothes with me and I put them in her car. We went to her hotel. I can't remember what the hell she started yelling at me about but we ended up in a huge fight. I had been drinking and had some beers in my purse. I told her I'd be back for my clothes and I left. As I was walking away from the hotel contemplating my next move and who I could call, I saw two cops driving toward me. I knew she had called the cops on me but wasn't sure why. There was a hill next to me that I basically threw myself down to hide. I was still underage, and on top of that on probation for a DUI I got when I was 19. She knew this. I don't know how long I stayed there. It was wet. It was spring and the night was cold. Eventually I thought they had to be gone, I didn't hear any cars and hadn't in a while. Stupid me.
Just as I had walked up the hill a cop pulled up.
"We've been looking everywhere for you!" Ugh.
They took me back up to my mom's hotel room. When she say me she exclaimed, "I've been so worried! Are you okay?" She always did this in front of societal figures, cops, doctors, teachers. She would put on this fake, sweet voice and pretend that she actually cared if I lived or died. It made me unbelievable angry. It turns out she had called the cops and told them I threatened to commit suicide and left. She had started this when I was about 14. She would kick me out of the house but then call the cops and tell them I was threatening to kill myself. This, however, turned out to be beneficial to me. The cops felt sorry for me and didn't arrest me for the beer in my purse. I told them I refused to stay with her, and just when the cops were escorting me out she said "Do you need any money sweetheart?" I did. But I was too prideful to take it.
When I went back to pick up my clothes she had no recollection of my leaving them with her. She vaguely remembered giving her crackhead (again, literal) sister some of my clothes, but wasn't sure. I only had the clothes I was wearing and a few items at my grandmother's. All of my pretty clothes that I had worked and saved to buy were gone. My graduation and prom dresses, my bras and underwear, my professional clothes, my I Heart Boxed Wine shirt, everything. I didn't have money to buy more. I think this time period in my life was my bottom.
Friday, May 21, 2010
when your parents purposely set the house on fire...
When I was sixteen my mom purposely burnt part of our house down for insurance money. I actually was at a bonfire when I got a call from her screaming at me to come home because a fire had started in her room and firemen were trying to put it out. After I deduced that everyone was okay, I really didn't care and had no intention of leaving my bonfire. She kept calling at me and screaming at me to come home though, so I eventually did even though I wasn't concerned with her room being on fire.
When I got there she flipped out on me for not immediately coming home. Her explanation as to how the fire started was that a candle exploded. I immediately knew she had started it. At this time her sketchy drug addict boyfriend, Tim, who was ten years younger than her was living with us. They had been dating on and off for a very long time. I never liked him. He was stupid, and was one of those guys that would do whatever type of drug he could get his hands on, just to be high. I know he preferred Oxycontin, just like my mom, and his lack of sticking to one drug really said a lot about his personality, to me at least.
So my mom's room was aflame, the firemen got it out quickly and easily, no one was injured. But there was smoke damage throughout, especially in my room. The entire top floor of our house was unlivable. We had another bottom floor with an addition that consisted of three bedrooms, two living rooms, one bathroom and another kitchen. We could have lived there, but for some reason my mother insisted we live in a hotel. The only one our crappy insurance covered was the Red Roof Inn in Gaithersburg, which was even close to our house (and considering I went to school in DC, it definitely was not close). I got my own room so I wasn't too pissed. Though being in the parking lot after dark was not advisable, and I regularly saw hookers and their consorts. Overall it was a fun experience.
The clever part of her burning the house down was that she started her own company in her boyfriend's name to fix our house. All the damage estimates she was getting from other companies were apparently much too low. So she started this company, sent an insanely large estimate to the insurance company and used drug addicted red necks who made inappropriate comments to me to fix the damage done to the house. She paid them in both cash and in Xanax, Oxycontin and Adderall. Definitely the type of drugs you want to give felons around your teenage daughter.
With the money she had leftover, she decided to buy a house in Edgewater, Maryland. I've described it before, strip malls and white trash on the water. It was somewhere by the Chesapeake and nowhere near my school. Which didn't matter anyway, the way she presented this to me was, "Tim and I are going to buy a two bedroom in Edgewater, you can sleep on the couch if you want." She was taking my little brother, who I didn't really like because he was very, very spoiled (and still is) with her. This news made me ecstatic. I was so happy I didn't have to live with her anymore, although she insisted that if I stay I stay in the house I start paying rent.
The day she moved out was such a relief. She plagued my everyday life like a virus I couldn't get rid of. Every single time I would see her, which wasn't that often because I tried to avoid her as much as possible, she was screaming at me. She has constantly called me a stupid bitch my entire life, literally since I can even remember being called a stupid bitch. Children start to remember around four, though my big brother said she's done it since before then.
When I got there she flipped out on me for not immediately coming home. Her explanation as to how the fire started was that a candle exploded. I immediately knew she had started it. At this time her sketchy drug addict boyfriend, Tim, who was ten years younger than her was living with us. They had been dating on and off for a very long time. I never liked him. He was stupid, and was one of those guys that would do whatever type of drug he could get his hands on, just to be high. I know he preferred Oxycontin, just like my mom, and his lack of sticking to one drug really said a lot about his personality, to me at least.
So my mom's room was aflame, the firemen got it out quickly and easily, no one was injured. But there was smoke damage throughout, especially in my room. The entire top floor of our house was unlivable. We had another bottom floor with an addition that consisted of three bedrooms, two living rooms, one bathroom and another kitchen. We could have lived there, but for some reason my mother insisted we live in a hotel. The only one our crappy insurance covered was the Red Roof Inn in Gaithersburg, which was even close to our house (and considering I went to school in DC, it definitely was not close). I got my own room so I wasn't too pissed. Though being in the parking lot after dark was not advisable, and I regularly saw hookers and their consorts. Overall it was a fun experience.
The clever part of her burning the house down was that she started her own company in her boyfriend's name to fix our house. All the damage estimates she was getting from other companies were apparently much too low. So she started this company, sent an insanely large estimate to the insurance company and used drug addicted red necks who made inappropriate comments to me to fix the damage done to the house. She paid them in both cash and in Xanax, Oxycontin and Adderall. Definitely the type of drugs you want to give felons around your teenage daughter.
With the money she had leftover, she decided to buy a house in Edgewater, Maryland. I've described it before, strip malls and white trash on the water. It was somewhere by the Chesapeake and nowhere near my school. Which didn't matter anyway, the way she presented this to me was, "Tim and I are going to buy a two bedroom in Edgewater, you can sleep on the couch if you want." She was taking my little brother, who I didn't really like because he was very, very spoiled (and still is) with her. This news made me ecstatic. I was so happy I didn't have to live with her anymore, although she insisted that if I stay I stay in the house I start paying rent.
The day she moved out was such a relief. She plagued my everyday life like a virus I couldn't get rid of. Every single time I would see her, which wasn't that often because I tried to avoid her as much as possible, she was screaming at me. She has constantly called me a stupid bitch my entire life, literally since I can even remember being called a stupid bitch. Children start to remember around four, though my big brother said she's done it since before then.
Monday, May 10, 2010
mother's day
Yesterday was mother's day. It really makes me kind of sad. I picture my mother by herself, wondering why her children dislike her so much and where she had gone wrong. It makes me so mad at myself because I feel such pity and guilt, which is useless because my mother has no remorse, she has no guilt. She doesn't care. I just imagine that she does, as most people would be sad that their children wanted nothing to do with them, not even on Mother's Day.
When I was 19 and still trying to force a relationship with her I decided to celebrate the day with her. My boyfriend at the time and I drove the hour to the redneck town she moved to, which she insisted was beautiful but really was only strip malls and white trash on the water. When we got there she was bitchy, as she usually is. I tried to ignore it, I suggested we go out to lunch. She told me Ron said he might come by and she didn't want to leave in case she missed him. Ron owned the marina where she docked her boat. Actually, Ron's parents owned it and he ran it. Ron was balding, chubby and married. He had three children in high school. He thought it was appropriate to tell me how to treat my mother. Mostly I was rude to him while trying not to throw a knife in the direction of his face. Her denying my lunch offer to wait around for the married man she was dating pissed me off, so I told her it was bullshit. I'd driven all the way down there and she wouldn't even leave her fucking house. This upset her, made her mad, but she knew I was right. So she forged an anxiety attack. She grabbed her stomach, paced around, stepped out of her back door, stepped back in, whined like a child, yelled at me, "I wish you hadn't come!" and then she got an idea. If Ron wouldn't come to us, we would go to him. Her entire mood changed, we'd get take out and eat it on her boat.
I hated Ron and wanted nothing to do with him. I thought he was a piece of shit. It made me mad that I had to ask if he wanted any take out sushi. He didn't. Thank God. When we got to her boat with the sushi the two of them were there, talking. I hated that I had to hang out with this douche, but I figured we'd just eat the sushi and leave. This proved a problem, as that fat fuck who said he didn't want any sushi, ended up eating most of it. My mom would make rude little quips to me, I would try to calm myself down and not flip out on her, I'd just tell her that her behavior was inappropriate and she needed to act like an adult (I started telling her this when I was about 12 or 13). Somehow Ron thought this gave him the go ahead to tell me I needed to be nice to my mother. I asked if he was fucking kidding me, he wasn't. In an attempt not to start screaming at them both, push them overboard and drown them, we left. I had a drug addicted nutjob throwing jabs at me when I was trying to spend fucking Mother's Day with her and her cheating boyfriend was telling me to be nice to her. No wonder I'm such an angry person.
When I was 19 and still trying to force a relationship with her I decided to celebrate the day with her. My boyfriend at the time and I drove the hour to the redneck town she moved to, which she insisted was beautiful but really was only strip malls and white trash on the water. When we got there she was bitchy, as she usually is. I tried to ignore it, I suggested we go out to lunch. She told me Ron said he might come by and she didn't want to leave in case she missed him. Ron owned the marina where she docked her boat. Actually, Ron's parents owned it and he ran it. Ron was balding, chubby and married. He had three children in high school. He thought it was appropriate to tell me how to treat my mother. Mostly I was rude to him while trying not to throw a knife in the direction of his face. Her denying my lunch offer to wait around for the married man she was dating pissed me off, so I told her it was bullshit. I'd driven all the way down there and she wouldn't even leave her fucking house. This upset her, made her mad, but she knew I was right. So she forged an anxiety attack. She grabbed her stomach, paced around, stepped out of her back door, stepped back in, whined like a child, yelled at me, "I wish you hadn't come!" and then she got an idea. If Ron wouldn't come to us, we would go to him. Her entire mood changed, we'd get take out and eat it on her boat.
I hated Ron and wanted nothing to do with him. I thought he was a piece of shit. It made me mad that I had to ask if he wanted any take out sushi. He didn't. Thank God. When we got to her boat with the sushi the two of them were there, talking. I hated that I had to hang out with this douche, but I figured we'd just eat the sushi and leave. This proved a problem, as that fat fuck who said he didn't want any sushi, ended up eating most of it. My mom would make rude little quips to me, I would try to calm myself down and not flip out on her, I'd just tell her that her behavior was inappropriate and she needed to act like an adult (I started telling her this when I was about 12 or 13). Somehow Ron thought this gave him the go ahead to tell me I needed to be nice to my mother. I asked if he was fucking kidding me, he wasn't. In an attempt not to start screaming at them both, push them overboard and drown them, we left. I had a drug addicted nutjob throwing jabs at me when I was trying to spend fucking Mother's Day with her and her cheating boyfriend was telling me to be nice to her. No wonder I'm such an angry person.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
workhorse
When I turned 11 my mom decided it was the appropriate age to make me start working. I went to school with a girl whose grandfather was from the middle east and owned a catering business. He was pretty sketch, especially since he let an 11 year-old work for him. We mostly catered private parties, or at embassies. At some point he acquired a restaurant, the food was disgusting, it was in downtown Silver Spring before downtown Silver Spring got nice and there was a back room which I'm pretty sure was used for hookers. So we go down there with my best friend from the neighborhood, Jennifer. She is three years older than me and was usually at my house and present for all the shit that went down. If her mother had known what we were doing that night she would have been pissed. Anyway, so we get there and my mom decides it's a good idea to tell Mouffa (that was the dude's name who owned the place) to give me the largest table there. Full of big black women. Not only did they scare the shit out of me, they were mean. When I tried to get them to pay for their drinks, they'd yell at me and tell me they already gave me the money. At first I was too much of a pussy to say anything about it. Then I got pissed. I'd had enough. I told one lady she needed to give me the five bucks for the Hennessy she'd just ordered. I was prepared, ready to stand firm...until she stood up. She towered over me, this little pre-pubescent white girl and screamed at me about how she'd already given me the money. I was defeated, I was afraid she was gonna slap the shit out of me, so I backed down. I know my place, sometimes I talk a big game, especially if I've been drinking, but I was only 11 or 12 at that point, and only drinking occasionally (which was okay, my mom knew about it).
We finally got out of there sometime in the middle of the night. It being a black lounge, I literally did not get one single tip. And don't be offended by my saying that, even Eddie Murphy agrees. Not all black people, but still. I mean, white people smell kinda like dogs when we get wet, my Asian coworker just told me "Asians, we smart, but we suck at driving." Every culture has its shortcomings. So we're going to leave and naturally, he's paying us under the table. Dude hands me a twenty dollar bill for my entire night of getting bitched at and bossed around. I cried. I was so angry. What a fucking dick. When we got to the car though it was revealed to me that Jennifer and my mom were keeping most of the money that they had been given for drinks and food. My mom made Jennifer give me some of what she had made.
The best part about how my mom started making me work at a young age is that she would take a portion of what I had made. She always said she was using it for things for me, but that was bullshit. A couple years ago she got really angry at me and had tallied up a list of what it had cost her to "raise" me and told me I owed her $121,000 dollars. Which is funny, because when I turned 18 she started taking credit cards out in my name and completely demolished my credit, I'm still in debt. But that's another story for another blog post.
We finally got out of there sometime in the middle of the night. It being a black lounge, I literally did not get one single tip. And don't be offended by my saying that, even Eddie Murphy agrees. Not all black people, but still. I mean, white people smell kinda like dogs when we get wet, my Asian coworker just told me "Asians, we smart, but we suck at driving." Every culture has its shortcomings. So we're going to leave and naturally, he's paying us under the table. Dude hands me a twenty dollar bill for my entire night of getting bitched at and bossed around. I cried. I was so angry. What a fucking dick. When we got to the car though it was revealed to me that Jennifer and my mom were keeping most of the money that they had been given for drinks and food. My mom made Jennifer give me some of what she had made.
The best part about how my mom started making me work at a young age is that she would take a portion of what I had made. She always said she was using it for things for me, but that was bullshit. A couple years ago she got really angry at me and had tallied up a list of what it had cost her to "raise" me and told me I owed her $121,000 dollars. Which is funny, because when I turned 18 she started taking credit cards out in my name and completely demolished my credit, I'm still in debt. But that's another story for another blog post.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
i am a blogging noob
I've decided to start this blog as a release for the anger I have, which is finding its way into all facets of my life. And like Danny Vineyard said, "Hate is baggage, life is too short to be pissed off all the time."
My anger is directed at, and a direct result of my mother, Joanna Agatha Ossman. Whether it's road rage, a rude d-bag, or a fight with my boyfriend, I sometimes just get way too pissed off. I can feel my anger grow over almost nothing. It is not healthy. For example, I was trying to get out of a parking garage recently. A woman and I drive up to each other, one of us was going to have to back up so the other could get by. I clearly could not do so because there were cars behind me. I pointed that I needed to get past her. She impatiently threw her arms up and sort of shrugged her shoulders. She looked like one of the typical, annoying yuppies in my neighborhood, with glasses and curly, short red hair. She really infuriated me. Both of our windows were down, and before even thinking about it I was yelling at her to move. Which isn't so bad, but then she wouldn't move and I really had no where to go. And blindly the next thing I know, I'm calling her a retarded bitch and telling her to get the fuck out of my way. This seemed to work, as she begrudgingly backed up. I had won. And yet, I still gave her the finger as a parting gift. She didn't even give it back, just looked flabbergasted.
This story probably wasn't the best example, as I really don't feel regretful about what I did. I mean really, why did she have to be such a twat about it?
But! I assure you I have a lot of anger in my life and it's because of my mom. So in this blog I'm going to share the stories of the shitty things she's done and said since I was born. Anyway, i'll leave you with this little story, which doesn't make me mad but does illustrate how ridiculous my mom could be. It was Halloween and I was in third grade. As usual, if my grandmother wasn't there, I was late for school because my mom could never manage to wake up on time. So it's Halloween and we didn't have to wear our uniforms because we were allowed to dress up. We of course were unprepared and I had no costume. What was her brilliant idea? She made me wear her oversized brown leather jacket from the 80's that came to my knees. Somehow in her mind, this made me an environmental lawyer. This was not just lost on me, it also greatly confused my classmates and teachers. Everyone else has awesome costumes. I can't remember what my best friend Kelsey was, but I know it was cool. Way cooler than an environmental lawyer.
My anger is directed at, and a direct result of my mother, Joanna Agatha Ossman. Whether it's road rage, a rude d-bag, or a fight with my boyfriend, I sometimes just get way too pissed off. I can feel my anger grow over almost nothing. It is not healthy. For example, I was trying to get out of a parking garage recently. A woman and I drive up to each other, one of us was going to have to back up so the other could get by. I clearly could not do so because there were cars behind me. I pointed that I needed to get past her. She impatiently threw her arms up and sort of shrugged her shoulders. She looked like one of the typical, annoying yuppies in my neighborhood, with glasses and curly, short red hair. She really infuriated me. Both of our windows were down, and before even thinking about it I was yelling at her to move. Which isn't so bad, but then she wouldn't move and I really had no where to go. And blindly the next thing I know, I'm calling her a retarded bitch and telling her to get the fuck out of my way. This seemed to work, as she begrudgingly backed up. I had won. And yet, I still gave her the finger as a parting gift. She didn't even give it back, just looked flabbergasted.
This story probably wasn't the best example, as I really don't feel regretful about what I did. I mean really, why did she have to be such a twat about it?
But! I assure you I have a lot of anger in my life and it's because of my mom. So in this blog I'm going to share the stories of the shitty things she's done and said since I was born. Anyway, i'll leave you with this little story, which doesn't make me mad but does illustrate how ridiculous my mom could be. It was Halloween and I was in third grade. As usual, if my grandmother wasn't there, I was late for school because my mom could never manage to wake up on time. So it's Halloween and we didn't have to wear our uniforms because we were allowed to dress up. We of course were unprepared and I had no costume. What was her brilliant idea? She made me wear her oversized brown leather jacket from the 80's that came to my knees. Somehow in her mind, this made me an environmental lawyer. This was not just lost on me, it also greatly confused my classmates and teachers. Everyone else has awesome costumes. I can't remember what my best friend Kelsey was, but I know it was cool. Way cooler than an environmental lawyer.
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