Perfectly Imperfect

As I’m sitting here thinking about my weekend. I’m also thinking about how I never hear from my family members, yes this is definitely normal for us because we no longer act like we know each other. I know that if my sister was alive right now today should be very upset with us and her beautiful face ,she would shed tears. But I’m OK with this decision that has taken place within our family. this family foundation has always been broken. It’s just sad because nobody wants to admit it but myself.

They say every family has their secrets. I don’t think ours was ever secret. I think ours was a bunch of people with very bad conscience and they ignored them. Now we’ve gotten older and were able to speak out or you were able to tell about our nightmares. We’re able to talk about the memories of our mother beating us. We’re able to talk about how our mom curses us out ,and called us out of our names and acted ridiculous so many times we never knew which way she was going to act.

At times now as I’ve gotten older I catch myself battling with my identity. Not knowing who my dad is, not even knowing his name, really really really messes with me. I am the true definition of a bastard child. They say the first thing you do is it meant something to get past it. I have look at myself many times in the mirror and try to convince myself of that and it’s just not care I cannot just say that it’s OK that I am a bastard child. I wonder what life would’ve been like if I would’ve just known who my dad was .

At the end of every thought I have to know that these are just thoughts. They don’t matter to anyone else but myself. When I say to people that I’m battling with in myself that is what I’m talking about. The things that I can remember now oh awful things and I know that I’ve never been that bad of a person I never deserve to be treated that way. I was a child at times. I was a daughter at all times. During some of my abuse I was a wife . And all these roles that I’ve played in my lifetime. Every single roll the other person was abusive. I came into this world not able to trust the womant that gave birth to me. Now I find it impossible to trust anyone. I looked in the mirror at myself and ask myself.do you trust yourself ?and still hesitate just to answer.

I don’t say all of this to complain about the struggles that I’ve had in my life. Because I’m well aware that so many people have it so much worse than me and my kids have ever had it or may ever have it will never know no one will ever know. But I say it to let people know that ,yeah I deal with mental illness every day of my life. My PTSD is ridiculous, my bipolar is on a raging roller coaster. And then there’s me who doesn’t want to claim any of it who wants to be just as normal as the next person. But knows that she will never be perfect.