Short story by a friend of mine. It’s a little twisted but it’s not half bad!
Adult life…. what a sham.
Work so you can pay for your car so you can get to work. Work so you can take care of children and send them to school so that they can grow up and work so that they can pay for their cars so that they can get to work.
There’s 168 hours in a week. Most of us work for at least 40 and sleep for another 56. We probably commute for at least another 5. That leaves us with 67 hours a week that we don’t have some anvil of obligatory adulthood tied to our neck.
And for what? So we can work until we’re 70, retire and die two years later of sheer boredom since after 50 plus years of working we have no idea what the hell we’re supposed to do with 168 hours all to our own planning? So some self proclaimed important big wig can sit on his butt and dictate to all of us underlings exactly what we’re supposed to do to make him rich so he can retire at 50 and run off to Rio with some far too dumb and far too pretty twenty something year old who he’ll dump as soon as she starts wrinkling and replace with another twenty something year old?
I’ve had with being the bourgeois.
I’m all set with people who live in these fantasy lands of money (which is ENTIRELY fictional now, by the way, since the value isn’t actually based on anything) and greed and pomp and circumstance.
From now on I work to make my family better and happy.
I just have to figure out how…….
When do you reach that point when you can trust someone again after they cheat on you? You’re starting to think you just don’t ever reach that point. Once you find out that he not only cheated, but made plans months in advance to do so, flew across the country to do so, then came back and lied about it, and then had the nerve to try and convince you that you weren’t together when the infidelity happened all in some pathetic attempt to preserve his sense of posterity, it’s pretty difficult to trust just about anything he says or does from that point on. He carried on an entire, illicit, relationship with her and thought you’d never find out. This is the man who claims to “love” you.
He claims he lied because he didn’t want to hurt your feelings. Apparently he preferred for you to get a random Facebook message from the whore he cheated on you with, his supposedly “evil” ex girl friend – at least that’s how he always described her. He was obviously full of sh*t. You have no reason to think that he’s not now. He says that your relationship was different then and he was questioning if he really wanted to be with you or if it could work out. Apparently he found the answers to these questions in the vagina of the “Devil”, as he was so fond of calling her. Well, aren’t you just the luckiest girl in the whole screwed up world.
The facts are plain and simple: he cheated. Had you not been pregnant with his baby, you most certainly would’ve kicked his sorry @ss to the curb. People aren’t supposed to stay together just for their children.
Your oldest sons (Gabriel) father cheated on you too when you were pregnant, though it was much weirder as he was exchanging rather unwholesome pictures with dozens of men and women that he met through some weird mobile website. You stayed with him because you wanted him to know your baby and had a sneaking suspicion that if you weren’t together when he was born, he would become a dead-beat. Years later, you’re still convinced that you’re right. He might have wasted a few years of your life, but it was worth it since your son was able to bond with his father. And he never tried to convince you of anything other than the fact that he was painfully sorry.
Now this chump has put you in the same situation. Only this feels worse. You held no delusions about Gabriel’s father and knew before that point that the odds of you two staying together forever were slim to none. He had a penchant for incessant lying, and always about obscure things – like the time he told Gabriel’s doctor that he had a cat in the house despite not only not having a cat, but having a distinct hatred for cats.
You thought your Love, your Light, your Bliss, however, was truly something special. You’d never loved anyone like him and you truly thought he was one of the best men you’d ever met. He was kind, hardworking, smart, genuine, and honest…. or so you thought.
Honesty clearly isn’t his strongest trait and you just don’t know how you can just believe him when he tells you that he’s different now, that Things are different now. It sounds like the same load of bullsh*t all cheaters try to pour on you after they’ve been discovered.
And you suspect that the “Devil” wasn’t the only one he cheated on you with. There’s another little tramp who you had a funny feeling about the moment you met her. She calls him baby for christssake. No girl calls a guy baby without something having happened. You asked him about it today and he gave you that stupid, no eye contact, mumbling response that he always has when he lies or when he knows he’s going to tell you something that will make you mad. You know he’s lying and you suppose it’s only a matter of time until this one comes out too.
Only now, he’s just put down a deposit on an apartment for you two, Gabriel and David. You’ll move, but you know it’s because you so desperately want to escape the hell hole that is your parents house- you have to- it’s just not safe for you or for Gabriel anymore. That’s an entirely different story for an entirely different day. You feel like you have no choice.
You have your days when you think he’s just about the greatest thing there is since Hershey’s, but you have a lot of moments and a lot of days like this where you’re completely repulsed by him and think he’s just like every other scumbag @sshole loser who you’ve kicked out of your life. It’s not a healthy range of emotions.
When you were little you envisioned yourself with some wonderful man who would do anything for you- who would protect you and care for you and never lie to you. Now that you’re grown you laugh at that notion. There’s no such thing as a “wonderful” man. They all lie. They all cheat. They all use you until you’ve turned into some shriveled up, heartless shrew who doesn’t even recognize herself in the mirror anymore.
You just can’t trust him. You have no reason to. He ruined everything.
And he ruined it all for the Devil.
Photo Credit: Devil Girl on a Break Smoke Ring by Oleg Birioukov
You’ve never seen your Love, your Light, your Bliss like this before. He’s completely in love with your new little baby – you’ve even seen him wipe away a few happy tears when they were cuddling and he thought you weren’t looking - and it reminds you of how you felt after your first son, Gabriel, was born.
You’d gone into labor at 6:45 in the morning with Gabriel and within two hours your contractions were strong and steady, happening every four minutes. Your mother picked up you and Gabriel’s father and you couldn’t help but laugh when you saw that she had donned the passenger seat with disposable Chux pads, since your water hadn’t broken yet. Your mind was racing with fear and excitement – fear of the pain and all of the things that could go wrong and if you really had the strength to give birth to a baby and excitement for finally meeting your little son.
You got to the hospital, determined to have a natural child birth, but your little son was positioned sunny side up and by noon you just couldn’t take the mind rattling pain of his bony little head pressing up against your tailbone, so you asked for an epidural. You felt defeated and weak for a moment because women had been having babies with no pain intervention since the dawn of people, and you thought you should’ve been strong enough to do the same. However, pain and experience are far more convincing and demanding than any theories or beliefs that you had about labor and motherhood, and part of being strong is knowing your limits and not pushing them so that you can fit some ideal.
You painlessly labored on and around four in the afternoon, Gabriel’s heart rate started dropping to 80 bpm with every contraction. The nurse called in the mid-wife, who decided to break your water and get him out as soon as possible. The nurse asked if it would be alright if a few of the nursing students came in to watch. At this point you didn’t care, all that mattered was safely delivering little Gabriel. In walked an entire class of nursing students and between your mother, your father, Gabriel’s father, a surgeon, the midwife and a few nurses, there were upwards of twelve people in the room when it came time to push our your little son. The midwife turned off your epidural- she claimed that a first time mother simply couldn’t successfully push without feeling the contractions- and told you to start pushing. You pushed – hard - and your body was flooded with adrenaline and awe-inspiring pain. You tapped into some internal reserve of something you’d never felt before that gave you the greatest strength and concentration you’ve ever experienced in your entire life.
The midwife yelled “STOP!” and you stopped pushing, wondering what was happening. Gabriel had his cord wrapped around his neck, though no one told you at the time. The midwife mumbled something to the surgeon about prepping the OR for a C-section, and then told you that you were going to try to push one more time. Your father whispered in your ear to push with everything you had, and that’s exactly what you did. With that push, he was born. Gabriel was an eerie shade of cadet-blue and didn’t cry. He wasn’t placed on your chest, but rather he was placed under a warming light and had tubes put in his nose and after what felt like hours, but was probably only a minute or two, he let out a grumpy cry and you’d never heard anything more beautiful in your life.
Gabriel’s father placed him in your arms and you couldn’t believe how cute he was – he had a full head of white hair and bright blue eyes. All ten toes and all ten fingers were present and accounted for, and you’d never seen anything so tiny or so marvelous.
You hardly slept during his first few days, convinced that he would just stop breathing or something equally awful if you did. You couldn’t believe that you had been given something so precious and so perfect and couldn’t fathom what you had done to deserve this. Surely something this lovely, warm, fragile and flawless can’t be meant to last.
But he was. And he has. And the only moment that has rivaled the sheer joy and amazement of his birth was the birth of his brother. Both were very different labors and deliveries, but both were equally joyful and life changing. Both are very different children, but both are equally loved and cherished.
In those first few days of his life, you fall in love with your new little son, David. As you watch his father, your Love, your Light, your Bliss, falling in love with his son and transitioning in his own remarkable way into parenthood, you feel like you’re seeing him as a man for the first time, and he’s never been more beautiful, but there is still hurt lingering in your heart.
You hope that this will last forever, because, quite simply, he’s the best man you’ve known, you’ve never loved anyone the way you do him, and you and your children deserve the kind of stability and serenity that a decent loving man can bring to a family. You’re also getting older and your heart isn’t as resilient as it once was, and you feel like if this doesn’t work out then you’re done with love.
For now, you try to just relish these first few days of David’s life, forget about past hurt, and try to re-open your heart again. After all, no one said Prince Charming had to perfect.
In a glimmer of an instant your life became an absolute nightmare.
You can’t even think clearly enough to gather a thought more cohesive than this: all it takes is a solitary act of abuse to permanently damage a child and change their entire life. The flashbacks, the guilt, the feelings of dirtiness, the self loathing, the feelings of unworthiness. It happened to the abuser first so they think this somehow justifies what they’ve done. The victim, if they truly understood the damage that was done to them, wouldn’t then become an abuser. Maybe you’re wrong, but you know what you heard and you know what they’ve done before and you will not let them hurt anyone else, even if it means losing your family, your job, your well being. You’ve never felt more bewildered, lost or enraged in your whole life. You don’t know how to confront them, but you’ll figure it out. You must.
As a mother, it is your duty to protect you children and you will protect them, no matter the cost.
The cycle ends here and NOW.
You start wondering about your birth mother, whether she'd even care or not that she has two grand children. You wonder if they have any of her features. You wonder if you do too. No one in your family has an insatiable need to write or a knack for music. You've always wanted to know where you get your quirks from – like your sense of humor and flair for all things dramatic, or your freakishly large feet and freakishly small ears…. Little things that most people take for granted because all they have to do is look at the people sitting at the dinner table. It seems silly. But to you it’s important.
You've just always wanted to feel like you belong - something you've never felt in your adopted family or anywhere you’ve ever been.
You start to cry fearing that you'll never meet her. Your adopted mom told you it was a closed adoption and that she’s sorry, but there’s just no way to find out who your mother was. This has left you bewildered since you were a little girl, but you tried to just forget about it and move on with life. It’s not like the parents you were given were all that bad.
Then you start to suspect that your mother isn’t exactly being truthful about finding your birth mother. After your first son was born, your father told you that your Birth Mother tried to contact you when you were 16, but your biological mom "didn't think it was a good idea." A few years later he asks you why you never went to Maine to pick up the letter that your Birth Mother had written to you. You told him that you had no idea she had. He said, “I could’ve sworn your mother told you. I must have been confused.” He’s never confused. You didn't speak to her for weeks after you found about this. She claims it was in your best interest, but you know damned better. She's somehow threatened, and you suppose you can understand to a certain extent. But you feel like it is your inalienable right to know where you came from and you don’t know how much forgiveness you can muster for anyone who interferes with this.
For now, you’ll just sit and take care of your babies, and brush their blonde hair, wondering how in the world you, an interracial, brown eyes brunette, managed to have two blue eyed blonde babies with a couple of other brunettes.
Your next step is to try and find some way to get your original birth certificate from Maine. All you know is that when you were born your name was Naiomi, your mother was a college student at the University of Farmington and your father was apparently MIA.
You aren’t trying to replace anyone. Your parents are your parents and nothing can change that.
You just want to know where you came from. Doesn’t everybody?