Growing up there were two things I prayed for, asked Santa for, and wished on every falling star for. 

First was family and the other was a home. Today on Halloween 2016, I watched my second grand daughter come into this world. She is lovely and healthy and mom is doing great. After 51 hours of watching my first born in labor my emotions were all over the place, I wanted to laugh and cry, cheer and curl up in a ball and weep but when I finally held her in my arms a sweet peace engulfed me. She is a “breath easy”. That’s what I call those in my life who just make me feel in sync. They make my breathes calm and steady and put all things in perspective because my feelings for them are so much greater than any problems, concerns or fears I may have. 

Then as I talked to my precious grand daughter and I kissed her little head covered with black hair a song from my wedding came to mind and I could almost hear the words and I knew that my wishes, dreams and prayers have come true. The chorus filling my heart and soul at that moment…..It feels like home to me, it feels like home to me, it feels like I’m all the way back where I belong. 

I’m an over thinker. That’s why this blog is such good therapy for me. I can’t focus on the likes I get, or the followers I have because my writing skills are elementary, but more on the therapy and blank slate to express myself. 

It may be an odd fascination to watch things like Snapped or Female Killers, but there it is. I’m hooked. Not too much because I don’t get much TV time in my life with 7 kids but when I get a moment, watching Hoarders or Snapped makes me feel more like I have things figured out. Normal scary movies never frighten me because they are typically so far out in left field. It’s the real people, the people who snap or seem to have never had a soul that really freak me out. 

Then I hear things like the TV psychiatrists and therapists and they make statements like “sociopaths, seem like normal people” “on the outside, no one would guess the storm that brew”, “she did a good job of acting like everyone else” and my mind starts cranking. 

Other professionals say “with the abuse she endured she had the makings of a murderer”, “with the losses she experienced she was a ticking time bomb”, “the combination of misery she was subjected to is the right place to breed instability” Fear and doubt sometimes make me question myself and the person I am. I have NEVER thought of hurting someone for personal gain but, can I snap? Can my raising knock me off the wall I have tried so hard to climb? Though I felt the cycle chains break, was it all an illusion? Am I sure I’m not an animal inside? 

Eating out was a rare thing for us. Often times we didn’t have money for three meals a day much less to eat food prepared by someone else. This morning though dad and I sat across from each other at a diner. The plate in front of me had a huge waffle and the cup was loaded with hot chocolate topped with whip cream. I tried to act like I wasn’t drooling all over myself but the smells were as good as the taste. 

This breakfast wasn’t casual and I could feel the approaching doom. It’s not like dad and I talked about school or the weather. We don’t have that kind of relationship. As he drank his third cup of coffee and aggravated the waitress I enjoyed my breakfast. People who don’t know him think he’s so funny. The stare he gave me while I was eating was awkward but the last time I didn’t eat something he gave me turned into me being the most ungrateful person alive. 

So… here it is.  “I wanted you to go to breakfast with me so we could talk” I just nodded to let him know I was listening. “I need you to help me” he took a long breath and kept looking at his coffee “I know I shouldn’t do the things I do and I need you to help me stop” I’m only 12 but…. am I understanding this correctly? Is he asking me to help him stop abusing me? No longer could I look away. I met his stare with a glare of hatred. After years of fighting him off, attempts at hiding until he was asleep, locking every door between us, he was acting like I could’ve ever stopped him? This is somehow my responsibility? 

I knew I was young, I realized my knowledge of many things was limited but I did know that I was not to blame nor did I have control over ANY of his actions. The only way to make him stop was to run. How dare he ask for my help in this? Did he think my normal behavior was eager for his advances? The only way he would stop is for him to be dead, me to be dead or for me to run. The state can’t stop him, my cries don’t stop him and my threats only anger him. If he needs help, I will help him. My sister got away, so will I.