“I love beef stew. Especially over rice. My favorite. You don’t like it right?”

I gave her the “White people passing in the office smile” and shook my head no to the left once. She knows I don’t like stew. She’s always pressing me. “You don’t like if because of the taste or you don’t like it because Step Mom Stuff?”

It would likely be easy enough to end the conversation with a pointed “Step Mother Stuff.”, but part of my unresolved childhood trauma related issues force me to respond in a spiteful way any time she asks me about said childhood:

‘It was one of 3 things my stepmother knew how to cook and when I was 15 she made me blend it up for my 11 year old brother and force feed him as a form of two-birds-with-one-stone punishment and we both cried until it was over.’

I stared at her. I pushed my top lip up above the bridge of my nose like I do when I’m thinking hard and then scrunched it the way I do when I don’t like what I’ve found.

I could see she regretted having asked the question. I hated the part of me that felt justified.

I’ve sat down several times and thought about whether this would be a post about the atrocities I experienced as an adolescent or a post about how they’ve effected me as an adult or a combination of the two. I guess it’s the latter.

You ever see Antwone Fisher? My favorite scene (probably because it resonates most):

Dr. Jerome Davenport: “Regard without ill-will despite an offense”, that’s Webster’s definition of forgiveness.

Antwone Fisher: Why do I have to forgive?

Dr. Jerome Davenport: So you can get on with your life.

I like to think I’ve gotten on with my life. I built this shit on my own. I haven’t forgiven though. For sure have not forgotten. I can’t relate to a lot of people from this position of “Fuck you”. Another great scene. The Gambler:

“No one can tell you what to do anymore. If someone tells you what to do and you don’t want to do it: “fuck you”.”

Yea that’s me. I built this shit.

It’s funny but I guess several years of psychology classes during my undergrad have prepared me if not for a career, for a better understanding of self.

After I finally beat the shit out of my step monster at 18, packed up a garbage bag that contained one pair of sweatpants, a hoodie, 3 crop tops and 2 text books. As I was leaving the house her last words to me were: “You’ll never have a white wedding”.

She was insane so I don’t read too much into it at the time…. but it kind of makes sense. I didn’t have a normal family life so I don’t know how to do a lot of adult things. I can blog all day about my feelings but I have no idea how to express myself on the spot in a healthy way. Fuck. I mean usually I have to wait like 5 days to calm down after small arguments. I’m afraid of myself. I’m afraid of how I shut down. But I’m open. At the same. Damn. Time.