Thoughts, and a beginning

I have contemplated writing a blog for quite some time. My life is more confusing to me than anything else I have ever encountered, and try as I might, there is just no way for me to make heads or tails of it. At 29 years of age, I have succeeded, failed, and everything in between.

I was born alone. That simple statement has made many people prior to you scoff, calling me a cynic, emo, or what have you. It is not a cry for attention, it is simply a fact. I was born without a dad, and too a mother who was completely unprepared for the consequences. In the early 80's, being a single mother was rare, and there was no help for those who chose to do it. My mother related to me that upon my birth, the attending nurse asked if she would like to see me. Baffled, my mother said of course, why wouldn't she. The nurse has assumed, as in many cases before, that I would be given up for adoption. This is the society and family that I was cast into.

Life did not get any easier as time passed. Skimming the highlights, I went through 2 adopted fathers (one of them twice), meeting my biological father, a string of my mothers boyfriends, finally concluding with her latest husband, who wanted nothing to do with me while I lived under his roof. Out of this, I gained 2 sisters, from the aforementioned 2 adopted fathers, a religion in question, no idea how to grow up, and no chance to be a child. I was abused, violently and passively, I attempted suicide, I became anorexic, I dabbled in drugs, alcohol, academia, women, anything that would let me feel something. I was labeled by my peers, society, family and friends as a cynic, a pessimist, a loser, a drag on those around me, a godsend, a life saver, a leader among men.

I have never truly experienced anything, it seems that I merely observe. Now, I do participate in the events of life, it's just that at the end of the day, I feel the same. There is no rush of excitement, no lingering sorrows, nothing. I could get fired, or promoted, and at the moments these things happen, I display the appropriate emotions, but internally, it's almost as if I am dead. I can laugh to tears, and seconds later be completely serious, with no transition between the two. This creeps people out. This is normal for me.

I do have fears. They are fears that I barely confess to myself. My fears have led to a pseudo-insomnia. I hate dreaming. Can't stand it. In my dreams, I emote. I feel. I am what some might consider alive. I don't remember my dreams, but I remember how I feel. I have woken up with a pillow soaked from the tears of pain and sorrow, I have woken feeling loved, I have woken to joy, to rage, and a plethora of other emotions. And I feel them, in those waking moments. They dissipate, those feelings, but I remember. My dreams are dreadful, they are wonderful, but most of all, they are inconsistent. My dreams do not relate to the current events of my life in any way, but rather they are a rehashing of prior events, events I do not wish to relive.

I am a parent, and a damn good one, at that. The problem here is, I have no idea what I am doing. Being a parent is the most terrifying thing I have ever done, yet at the same time, it is the easiest. People I have associated with talk about the difficulties of parenthood, and I sit there, nodding my head, affirming what they are saying, while internally, I wonder what they are doing wrong, why they just don't deal with the issues they are having, judging them to be weak, unworthy of parenthood. Yeah, I know it's wrong to judge, but that's part of who I am. My child is beyond smart, when he want's to be. I deal with extreme guilt, knowing the life that he has, and how it could be better for him, and how it's my fault that it isn't. Regardless, he has what today would be deemed as a normal life. He is able to find the joys of the world around him, and able to experience everything. He chooses his own path, and I help him with those decisions.

To some, I would be called successful, given the situation that I have found myself in, and to others, not so much. I am employed, making a decent living, in a field that I am very good at. I have a place to call home, a vehicle, food in the kitchen. I have bills, responsibilities, commitments. I have a relationship with both my mother and my father, with my youngest sister and her husband. I have friends across the country, and I talk to them all semi-frequently. To look at the overview of the current situation of me, I am not doing so bad.

I am very good at my job, and I hate it. I make a good wage, but at the end of the week, I have no idea how to manage my money. I have a car, but it's used, and broken half the time. Yes, there is food, but it's the same food, every day, every week, and if I forget to eat (usually), the food goes bad. My bills keep coming, reminding me of things that I forgot to take care of, reminding me of things that I never should have done. Responsibilities and commitments, broken or forgotten, I put the bare minimum effort into them. I talk to my mother, and have such mixed feelings about her, partly blaming her for the situation that I am in, partly resenting her for the success she has found, my father for abandoning me before I was born, my sister(s) for not doing the things they should, my friends for being better at everything than I am.

These are the thoughts that I deal with, not on a daily basis, more like an hourly basis. This is the beginning that I give to you.