It's a strange feeling realizing when a story you planned to share as an old adult may as we be told now, the reason being to protect the people in the story from being judged by anyone who may know them. They've all been gone for a while now, making the feeling that much weirder. I met a young man yesterday and we got to talking and he told me a story very similar to mine, though his family really dropped the ball in his situation. That's his business though. With 23 and me and that, this same story has been increasingly more familiar. I'm talking about biological family, more specifically parents and the rhyming history behind them. I don't really like thinking about mine all that much honestly. Thinking about still having them is like looking into the life of a completely different person these days. They were really good parents, remembering back but the awful ending really overshadows that fact. My mother was a smart woman and she certainly wanted the best for us. She had me enrolled in college classes and that the moment I turned like 12, the age our community college started excepting students. In her mind I had the possibility of being someone important, like a doctor or some shit. She was probably right. I understand now that she was pretty complex and that's probably what drove her into what was thankfully a short and quick madness. Not long before her death when I in the middle of my freshman year in high school, she started drinking, though she had been abusing prescription meds before and during that. I don't know for sure, but my dad said it was because of that, her heart couldn't take it. That night was terrible and traumatizing and a little over a year later, my younger sisters and I were left orphaned.
My father's suicide was not seen coming. He was absolutely struggling with my mom passing but to most of us, he was a fucking savage. He kept himself healthy and was really involved with martial arts, diving, some random arts he thought were cool, hunting, other stuff too like he was actually very versatile although maybe socially slow but my mom was talkative enough to where it wasn't very noticeable. That's my dad though and I read his last words and found him cold and frozen the next morning where he wanted to be. He wanted the best for us too and he believed we would have turned out better without him too. Maybe he was right too, that's the thing for me. We'll never know. As I've gotten older, it's mattered less and less. I consider myself and my sisters pretty successful these days. Not like monetarily necessarily, but the lives we live now are nothing to scoff at in my opinion.
These days I'm more thankful for the fact my dad even gave us the option to try and live on. He could have easily taken us out the night he went and I don't know if the thought crossed his mind to take us but he didn't. Those stories of family murder-suicides seem very common and that makes me just angry, I guess. Those stories hit different surely.
Before all that, there was a death of a guy named Brandon. I was about 8 or 9 at the time and my mom pulled me into her bedroom, kinda crying. A couple days earlier he and my dad got in this big fight and I don't think he was around, I don't remember. She explained that there was a possibility this guy who just died in a car accident might be my biological father and my dad didn't know but she had to tell him, Like since his family wanted to meet me all of a sudden and I don't know, I guess know me? I said I would because even by then I understood that they were probably hurting as family's tend to do during unexpected tragedy and frankly, it didn't seem like home life would take a great turn with that shit happening. She also gave me the option of getting a DNA test to see if my dad was my dad. I told her no and she said my dad didn't want to know either. I still don't want to know. I made pleantries with Brandon's mom and family but that relationship with the family was never pursued. I've seen them around here and there. They're still in the area. If they recognize me at all, they don't show it and neither do I.
This was all years ago. I still won't be putting my DNA online. There are things I don't want to know and I'm glad I have that information to make that decision. So many people are lied to it seems like. I'm only a year older than my mom was when she birthed me. Literally if I was pregnant at the time of me writing this, i could confidently say I wouldn't know for sure who the dad hypothetically would be. It would be nearly an absolute repetition of how I was born and the secrets behind that, and even the secrets of how my mom was born herself. My grandma didn't even raise her. Our choices may be different but the situation would remain the same. That's probably a toxic thing to be running in the family. Lies and coverups, that's just alot. And really, we're all assholes anyway I'd rather not deal with mini ones. As for boyfriends or marriage, there are clear patterns of us making men crazy. Interest is suddenly lost. Their insecurities eat them alive. I'm tired of hurting people. Those are stories for another occasion though. Maybe this helped create a bad apple now. I'm not really bad, I just come from bad things. Like that Hollywood Undead song. The people I'm closest with in this world are the same way. Emphatic conversations about tragedy, growing up fast, and selling ass is a comfort that's sad to need, but to get is a blessing. I'm glad I have those choices now.
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