With a Beer in my Hand

Submitted by: Angela Ruiz, 27

I lost both of my biological parents when I was 9 years old. My dad was killed in a car accident, and my mom… wasn’t killed but, she wasn’t… here. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but she decided that she didn’t want to be a mom anymore. We were not her priority. Pills were. Drinking was. She was more important. But I’m writing this somewhat ironically with a beer in my hand, wondering if with every sip I become more like someone I try so hard to let go of.

 

Now I’m forgetting what I want to say. I never make sense to myself. Is this what she feels like?

 

This is something that I battle fiercely with. Something that I cry about often and something that will probably haunt me until the day that I die. What did I do to deserve this? What did my sisters do to be left abandoned? Are we so terrible that our own mother doesn’t love us? That the person who gave us life doesn’t want to be around and be a part of ours?

 

My dad didn’t leave us, you know… he did not choose to die that day.

My mom could have chosen to be there, but she didn’t. And I don’t know why. I will never know why.

 

I tried so hard my entire life to cover this up – I was intensely jealous of my friends that had moms who showed up to their track meets, parents who gave them lunch money, parents who would… simply ask how their child’s day went. We didn’t have this. We had fighting and screaming outside of my bedroom door until 4am on school nights. We had borrowed prom dresses and avoiding the questions like, “why are you wearing Taylor’s dress from the last dance?”, “Why can’t YOUR mom carpool this time?”.

 

Most of my friend’s parents knew the answers and I am thankful they gave me excuses. Simple ones of “just wanting to take us”, of “wanting us to be at their house instead”, of “having so much extra food to take home” on holidays. I am so thankful. I undoubtedly owe so much of my growth to you – thank you for teaching me how to love.

 

Sometimes when I describe what my childhood was like I feel like I am describing some type of poetic tragedy. I went through this and I went through that and yet here I am kicking ass and taking names and being successful despite the fact!!!!

 

But I am affected by this every. Single. Day. Depression and anxiety have become close friends of mine. I have swallowed the pills. I have talked to the counselors. I lost my belief in the God I once loved and for a long time I lost the belief in myself. But then things changed.

 

I was 25 years old when I found out what gaslighting was.

gas·light

verb

gerund or present participle: gaslighting

1. manipulate (someone) by psychological means into questioning their own sanity.

 

My mom is the queen of being present when it is convenient for her. She was never there until she had something to show off – she wasn’t there throughout our entire high school or collegiate career but on the day her daughter is “the graduate” she gets to be proud. Now the day is about her. She gets to be in the picture she shows off. She wasn’t there to help me find my wedding dress and she wasn’t there to taste our wedding food but she was there when she got to be “the mother of the bride”… showing up as I’m doing my first look with my husband and mad because I didn’t wait for HER to put my dress on as she was an hour late. The day was about her. She has always made me feel like I am crazy – “I love my daughters so much!” she says… “They are the light of my life!” she says… Yet I hardly know her. I hardly know who I would be if she was ever there. Am I the crazy one? Is this what most other moms are like? No. No they aren’t. She can light that fire but I’m going to put it out. Narcissism is a horrifying thing to understand.

 

I am so tired of this. FOR YEARS I have been so, so tired of this. I am so sad. I am so mad. I am so many emotions that I never knew how to handle. You don’t get it unless you have been there, and this is an endless cycle. The 5 stages of grief – Only I am grieving someone who is still alive.

 

1. Denial – The world is meaningless, and this can’t be happening. My life doesn’t even matter to my own mother. My mother I once loved is not this bad… where did she go?

2. Anger – Feeling deserted and abandoned. Where is God? What did I do to deserve this?

3. Bargaining – I will do anything to live a different life! *sells my soul to the illuminati* (it doesn’t work, I have personally tried… 3 times)

4. Depression – I can’t move, and I can’t breathe… everything is dark and an endless hole that I can’t crawl out of.

5. Acceptance – My mom does not want to be my mom. I will be okay without her.

 

I lost sight again of why I was writing this. I can’t stop crying. Why am I always back to this?

 

I haven’t talked to my mom in over 4 months. I moved to a different state and she doesn’t even know why. She doesn’t know what my husband does for a living and she doesn’t know she city we moved to. She never called to see if I was happy that I was moving across the country and she never called to see if I was scared. She never calls to say I love you. But that is because she doesn’t love me. She loves herself. and I am okay. My mother’s imperfections are not my fault. And I am who I am without her.

 

What annoys me the most is not the fact that my mother chooses not to be a part of my life. I am most annoyed by the people who tell me, “She is still your mother!” because I am done feeling guilty for moving on past this part of my life. My mother chose not to choose me. She chose not to choose my sisters. But I choose me. And I choose them. And that means moving on so we can be okay. And I don’t need her to be our backbone because we are each other’s backbone and we are stronger because we got here ourselves.

 

I am a stronger woman because I wasn’t raised by one. I am a stronger woman because I was raised by myself.

 

 

To my sisters, my grandma, my aunt – I am everything I am because of everything you are.

 

 

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A word from A Genuine Destiny,

Wow, when I read this for the first time, I just wow…

How life giving it is to know that you (meaning I) are not the only one to have felt these feelings. The weirdness you felt you were, that your life consisted of, and then theres this beautiful STRONG ASS woman killing it and she has a story much like mine.

That… my friends, is why I write.

You are not alone.

Your story IS important as the founder of To Write Love on Her Arms says.

This writer, I imagine, is on a similar journey I am. At least based off her writing, I can hear it. I can sense it. A Journey to a Genuine Destiny. To use her experiences for purpose.

She writes not for pity, not for shaming. She writes for her own gratitude. Self motivation in hopes of motivating others. She writes for freedom of this burden. She writes to share with others her genuineness. Her deep most thoughts.

She writes to give thanks, to forever share her debt to those of you who enabled her and her sisters to SURVIVE.

From the bottom of my heart, Thank you to whoever you are who was there for her and her sisters. I only know two of the three sisters personally, and they in their own way inspire me every day. My life is better because I know them. So thank you!

If you read this, and you weren’t involved, may it be an inspiration for you to help those much like us in the school system, in the neighborhood. May you get the strength to love someone whom you don’t have to love.

If you are one of us- May you find the courage to let go of the past and to just be. To just love.