When you have a family like mine?
Yep, it’s 2:00am, I’m up, can’t sleep because I have some things to get off of my chest. I’ve been thinking about blogging out the past week events for a minute, now. It’s eating away at me and this is my only means of airing it out.
Anyway, due to some issues with Winton Manor – the building I stayed in, I had to move out and move back in for the – millionth time – with my grandmother. I, of all people never wanted to ever live inside of this shit-hole again, but here I am. Putting out job applications left and right, looking for another potential place to stay and whatnot. In the meantime, I have to deal with my grandmother’s bullshit. Now, don’t get on the offensive, she can be a bitch and here’s why.
She discussed my “level of respect” for myself with her sister, and they came to the conclusion that I was a whore/slut/tramp, or whatever. This is the furthest from the truth but you can’t tell this woman who, she thinks is right even when she’s proven wrong. The reason they thought this is due to the amount of people that came over to see me. One was actually my boyfriend (that’s no longer the case), one was my son’s father, and the third one was a good friend who I’ve known for almost 9 years who missed me and my son dearly. Because of these three people who loved me and my son, I’m no longer permitted to have company and my son father has to come and get his son if he wants to see and spend time with him. Trust me, I’m not leaving anything out. That was her excuse. She assumed that I screw everything that walked in the door.
Instead of asking me, her and her sister took it upon themselves to have tribal council and kick me off social life island. You know, that’s great and all but its ridiculous. Cut me some fucking slack, lady. I’m in school – I graduate in two months, I’m a single mother, I’m looking for work, no one is offering to babysit my son so I can have 10 minutes to myself in the bathroom – let alone go out and have some time to myself, I’m broke and can’t travel. The least she could have done was put herself in my shoes but that’s too much like right because she’s too focused on being right and me being wrong.
It’s like I’m 18-years-old, again and I’m limited to riding my bike up and down the street like I’m 13 (yes, that really happened). I asked this old coot who was having a problem with me having company over and she simply said, “your Aunt mentioned something about Ced (the friend I’ve known for almost 9 years).” Guess what? SHE DOESN’T FUCKING LIVE HERE! Then, I find out, this very same Aunt was giving Ced ugly looks that could kill the living dead when he was carrying Adam. My family is filled with spiteful, delusional bitches and once I move out of here, it’s going to be for good.
How can someone intervene in my social life, or how I raise my son but no one intervened when I was being molested all those years ago? Where was the concern, then?