It's Saturday Morning

I was remembering how hard it was to live with an alcoholic. My mother was scary.

Example: Saturday mornings would be bad. My mother would be angry, hungover and in the mood for a fight. She would be raging about the house being dirty and ready to direct that anger at everyone. My father would pick up on her mood and either hit or scream at whoever was not Making Mommy Happy.

I would be loading the dishwasher and ask my father if I should put the dishwasher on or wait until he had a shower. He would say that I should put the dishes on. I would and then my mommy would have found her target. Me. Selfish, selfish me. Putting the dishes on before Dad had his shower. Raging, she would turn the dishes off and yell that that Dad needed his shower. Dad would backtrack and go take a shower without sticking up for me at all.

It was a chaotic, horrible house. I eventually developed a persona, a wall, a defense mechanism to protect myself from them. My real self was buried beneath junk food, books, depression and television. Hide.Hide.Hide. I did not know who I was or what I wanted until I lived with my boyfriend. Even then, it took years of binging, depression, meetings, therapy and hell for me to be able to live as I truly am.

My family does not like who I am. The labels of 'selfish', still are applied to me. I made up my mind years ago that I would not dance for my family's approval. If I was not good enough - tough shit.

I am so angry about those years. About being abused, abandoned and expected to maintain my mother's insane denial instead of being a real kid. I am angry as hell about it.

Even today, over 25 years later, I still carry tension in my body because I am afraid of being physically attacked, belittled and targeted for bullying.

I don't know if I will every get over this.