Things will get better.
Okay.
Things will get better.
Okay.

Tomorrow, Today..

I used to think when I was a kid I was special. It wasn't an arrogance, it was just this kind innate feeling I had about myself. It wasn't cause I thought I was pretty, or talented, or for whatever tangible reason people are rightly felt special...it was more like an odd special. It might have something to do with the fact that even at six years old I felt more engaged and had better conversations with 60 year olds, or that when most children were playing with barbie dolls or wondering what dessert they'd get that night I was worrying over my place in the world and wondering what the meaning of life is and ultimately how I fit into that scheme of things. I was curious about everything and anything and I desperately wanted to prove myself to the world. You know MAKE something of this wonderings, become the person I was destined to be. I could not have this kind of intense observation about the world without sharing it, without bringing my unique view to the table. Still...kind of a bit much to handle for a pre-pubescent kid you know what I mean?

  But it didn't stop me. I couldn't help the way I was. Or am I guess I should clarify. Here I am a 2 decades later and still scared and wondering about the meaning of life. I'm sad to say though, that feeling of wonder, and that feeling of "specialness" is gone. After too many squashed attempts at my dreams, too many discouraging words, and too many loved ones bailing without a word, you start to not expect anything from life. From the world. From yourself.

   That last part is the hardest to come to terms with. You think as a kid you invincible, that "you can do anything you put your mind to" like all the bullshit Walt Disney funded classic family krap movies they produce, trying to pretend like everyone gets their fairytale ending. Well it's not like that. The truth is life is about disappointments, and paying bills, and trying to motivate yourself to get out of the bed in the morning for a job you don't like. It's putting makeup on a Friday night to go out with people who don't really care about you but like to look flashy and get trashy for a website which publishes the glitz like you are part of the celebrity life. It's walking home at night too tired and exhausted to exercise like you know you should, where you nuke a easy dinner when you know you shouldn't, and watch that next episode of the series when you know you should be doing something productive but ah fuck it I'll do THAT tomorrow. Life is saying tomorrow during today because carpe diem only applies to the rich and beautiful who have the luxury of choosing what their day will be. Life is hurting. Wondering why after 2 decades of trying to get to know people, they still only want the surface of you and you have to pretend to be okay with that. Life is giving yourself entirely to someone else believing they love you back as fiercely, but they pack their bags and leave anyways, your love a nice vitamin booster for their future successful life. Life is having a mother who calls only twice a year to ask where she can buy face cream and asking how your friends are doing, because that's what really matters...Life is gargling salt and smiling as it goes down because "smile! Be happy!"is society's social norm while most people going home thinking about slitting their wrists.

Sigh. I'm sorry. I guess I'm just tired. And sick. Physically and in reality yes for only 2 days, but also emotionally...mentally....since birth? Wow. Scared for me tonight. Maybe better day tomorrow...right?

So. Damn. Scary

Scariest dream ever.
And probably grossest.
And makes no sense but at the same time made so much scary sense during the dream....

So basically I made up that these people named the "Hanoi" who were people from Western Africa were the oldest living culture and people (been around for thousands and thousands of years). Anywho I met one, and at this like reallllyy cool vintage shop by the way (again still a dream but damn they had some wicked stuff) while I was shopping and deciding if I wanted this particular 70's marble orange and white skirt and shirt set.

This woman I met was pregnant, very late in her pregnancy if the massive bulge was anything to go by under her long plain brown maxi dress. I got to talking with her, asking her about her pregnancy and preparation for a child and stuff. I guess I've just always been fascinated (in reality too) about people who decide to be mothers, wondering what actually motivates them to have a child and whether its really deep down for the right reasons. Unlike my mother who had children for lack of focus and defaulting, going back to having a child was her way of temporary happiness emotionally and chemically- it's a real thing- thats why mothers have hormonal withdrawl after giving birth because you aren't being pumped with all that happy juice that was there during your time to create life. Anyways the girl seemed like she was happy, a little bit "in love" with her baby, rubbing her womb every once and awhile and looking at the swelling fondly when talking about it, like she was already looking at her baby.

At the same time, and for whatever reason people feel more comfortable with strangers, she also told me her fears. Saying she was nervous and scared she wasn't going to be a good mother, that there was no man in the picture, that she'd fuck it up and that being "Hanoi" having a baby out of wedlock was sin (apparently like alot of cultures- until very recently in their history they had become mostly Catholic during the Misssionary times and thus inherited alot of the good old fashioned Catholic guilt.) I tried to find a way to ease her worries, say something to make her relieved, but looking and my past and the type of mother my mom was to me, I couldn't very well quote any good lessons or truth about good motherhood.

It was at that same time that Pastor Mike came into the shop (the newest character in my dream). He was apparently a classmate in highschool and apparently I thought very highly of him. I met with him and his mother for tea the day earlier and he recounted how he was giving up everything, ambitions, sex, etc all to become a full time pastor and eventually priest of the church. He had been a wild and drunk teenager during our youth and to her him speak with such conviction and dedication about his faith and newfound path in life- I was in awe, and to be honest- jealous. He had focus where I certainly (in both reality and the dream) do not. Anywho he walked into the shop and saw me and we smiled and exchanged pleasantries. And because I am a polite girl, I introduced the Hanoi girl to Mike. It seemed harmless enough but for some reason I saw them exchange a glance between them, something unspoken was going on. After all she was a proper Hanoi and here was man dressed in black with his small white collar- trademark of the Catholic priests. I didn't think much of it at the time other than it was a coincidence they were so different in idealism, but still followed the same God. And that in a way she was inferior to him because of that faith.

That was until the next week. I was eating lunch with some friend (faceless and nameless since they weren't all that important), but the key role of the nameless was to scream as she was reading the newspaper. I looked up from my meal in curiousity as she shoved the newspaper at me.  There on the front cover was a large picture of the same Hanoi girl, alongside a much smaller picture of Pastor Mike and of all things...my mother. And in bold words read : "Catholic Minister trades Mother to Mother: Saviour or Savage?"- which really caught my attention.
I read on:
" Pastor Mike, a known Catholic minister of the city of Vancouver has attempted the first womb to womb surgery. Last Thursday at 10 pm Mike performed an unorthodox and unlicensed surgery on a pregnant Hanoi woman ( 8 months into her pregnancy) and attempted to reinsurt the fetus into the womb of 55 year old Yvette West, a devout and older Catholic mother."

O. My. God.
I had introduced them!
The next page there was a bloody image of the carved out body of the Hanoi girl, her face twisted in pain and her belly hacked up and bloody as she was rushed into the emergency room. Of course the article kept going about how she was out of wedlock and the baby was fatherless, how my mother was more experienced to have a child having already had 4 children and devout Christian. It was clear there was a bias going on. And of course like all fucking news it left out the most important pieces, if the Hanoi girl was still alive, whether Pastor Mike was even charged, and most important of all- how unbelievable fucked up this whole situation was and yet they were whitewashing it.

All I can remember is that this dream is like a jumbled mess of everything I am worried about in my life right now. My lack of focus or path (shown by Mike), my doubts about motherhood and if its for me ( the Hanoi girl), the scary consequences and unknown actions resulting from my decisions (introducing the two people) and the unbelievable messedupness of my mother and my fear I will become a savage person like her ( her savage decision to steal the child in order to feel something again).

All's I can say is it makes complete sense and no sense. And all of it- is So. Damn. Scary.

Make Sure Your Hands are Clean

He says I'm selfish.
And for a second I was at the precipice of self loathing and another downward spiral, when I stepped back and thought, "wait a minute, no I'm not."
I looked into who I am.
I am the type of girl who even though I've know this girlfriend for a couple weeks, during a random house party I will hide and put a candle on a cheesecake I've conveniently hidden and get the whole crowd to shut the hell up and sing "Happy Birthday" because even if they are strangers, she still deserves to be special. To be celebrated.
I am the type of girl who even after a guy I really liked and was dating went behind my back and hooked up with my best friend, the first thing I ask when I bump into his best friend, is to ask how he's doing.
I am the type of girl who cheerleads for anyone's dreams, even no matter how small or delicate they are, always putting the spotlight on where it needs it most because I'm more comfortable and natural at being the one backstage.

I think if anything I haven't been selfish enough. Or self loving anyways. Every mistake, every intentional hurt from another, every chance I don't take,  its always another reason to mentally flagellate myself. If I had physical proof of the rape and massacre of my mental thoughts, my body would have already peeled back from itself, inside out.

The only way I have ever been selfish is wanting someone who loved me. Unconditionally. That's the catch, the second part. Whenever I stop becoming useful, or entertaining, or people are buoyed enough by my stepping up my back to the next rung on the ladder, they leave. I cannot count or even put a statistic to this but it is a problem that is a running rampant virus that I see not only in my life but even through heartbreaking stories of strangers, when they are just tipsy enough to let out the pains they keep so tightly confined in Monday morning suits.

And I say fuck it. So be it. Be alone then Tina. Own it. Until you find those people who really love and encourage and inspire you, and just plain stick by who you are as much as you can for them...
Don't bother.
And for that man who called me selfish, you know who you are, as Bob Marley once wisely said,

Who are you to judge the life I live?
I know I'm not perfect
-and I don't live to be-
but before you start pointing fingers...
make sure you hands are clean!”

Why is it that alot of parents should really never have been parents?
I saw a quote today that made me laugh and wince at the same time
"My only goal as a mother- raise children that don't have to recover from their childhood."
Isn't that such a interesting concept- yet holds so true for so many of us?

Both my father and mother were pretty much completely absent from my life. My mother is bi polar. Which means she never had enough energy, or had too much. Meals were skipped, raids in our rooms were common, and her mood swings were like wreaking balls, coming with full force and from a different direction each time. I don't know if the moods were worse or the withdrawals. Times where I didn't know where she was even I when I was sitting right next to her. I learned from a very young age not expect a meal, let alone a shoulder to cry on from the first person who is supposed to provide security for you. Needless to say, I signed all my school permission forms, I learned to vary toast as much as could ( as in with cheese, with sugar and cinnamon, with ketchup ((seriously)) ) and I spend most of my days couch surfing on friends homes and switching it up enough that their parents wouldn't get suspicious. From a very young age I had to lie and pretend. I wanted to die inside every night I saw my girlfriends get kissed or the cheek or asked about school from their moms. It was like a special club everyone was in on but me.

It pains me that I had to pretend, because I think now maybe if I had just given up the jig, told somebody, or went to a counselor...I might have gotten help. It terrified me then to think of being placed in a boarder home...but now that I think about it, it would have been more consistent and secure than what I had been doing.

My father. Lord my father. A conundrum. In some ways he did alot and in others he fails me still. He did step in when I was 16 and took me to live alone with him. And I am thankful for that. But from 9-16 he left. Too tired, too weary, and just too frustrated with life with my mom, he left our home. Gone to California. Such a fucking cliche when I think about it, except the casualty of this cliche happens to be my life. By that time my two older siblings had graduated and were out of the house, my sister was in her senior year, and I was at most impressionable age. Seriously it's scientific. By 9 years old you identify your world and get your most defining outlooks or view on life. What I knew for sure was two things. I'm not worthy of attention. And that people never stay.

Once my sister graduated I had 3 long years of being alone with my mother. I was ignored, berrated, and often interrogated. It was like I was living with 3 evil step sisters all embodied in this short squat little woman. I will never forget with such clarity that I reluctantly came home one day and saw my moms friend Sam's car in the driveway. Sam was another like my mother. Bi polar and scary when she was unleashed. I walked in the door and saw them talking in the kitchen and at the sound of the door Sam looked at me with daggar eyes. Like I had done something wrong. I didn't want provoke anything so I went into the living room and switched on the computer. I waited as the stupid fucking dial up loaded like the piece of shit it is and heard them walk into the room. Taping my foot anxiously I tried to ignore them.
It started off easy
"So have you heard from your father?" Sam's voice dripped like acid. It was a laid out trap and I knew I could never walk out of sharp edges.
It became a bash session. Sam at the front whipping me on both sides, and what I remember most is my mother just sitting there. Just sitting there. No expression. Watching. Watching as this outsider, this violently loud woman spit things like "your father made your mother have kids, she didn't want any!" or "your father should've had a vasectomy!" Things you just never want to hear as a child, as a person, or as a spirit. I don't think I've ever been more scared or more hurt in my whole life watching my mother sit by and let me be torn to shreds. And I will never forget that feeling that I witnessed evil at such a young age.

Why am I saying all this? Because I'm 23 and unemployed and working dead end jobs my whole life. And I know they say don't blame your parents, but is it really blame to say I am so broken from not having any? I cry myself to sleep in one way or another every night. Whether because I am so terrified every day, or because I feel like a complete failure, or that I can't impress the very people who will never give me that satisfaction of recognition anyways...I dunno.
Bad night tonight. Can't do this anymore.