I was born on September 14, 1999, in Hahira, Georgia, a small town near Valdosta. I don't remember the day I was born, of course, but my mother used to talk about it a lot when I was little. In her words, it was the day "I made her a mommy."
I do have some very vivid recollections of small memories of when I was little. One of my fondest memories is of me and my mom playing dress-up with scarves and headwraps while listening to Erykah Badu, Bob Marley, Common, and The Refugees. She would burn incense, and the smell was amazing. My parents split up when I was born. They got married and then divorced a couple of months later. I don't remember everything from that time, but I do have some vivid memories of being with my mom. She always told me stories about how we were inseparable and how she worked two to three jobs to make sure I had the latest clothes. I also remember how we would watch scary movies together and go everywhere together when it was just the two of us.
I was a happy child up until a certain point from what I could recall. My mother got pregnant again by my father, and had my little sister Savanah. Then she got married to another man. I never liked him, and my mother eventually told me that before they got married she would let him babysit me. I always told her that "he was a mean man". His name was Richard and he was in fact, fucking mean. They got married when I was 5 years old. I hated when my mother married this man because our relationship would never be the same and neither would my mental health OR hers. I know hate is a strong word but I absolutely despised this man. He was abusive, controlling, a narcissist, and a manipulator. My entire childhood I walked on eggshells around him. They weren't even together for a year yet before he'd started putting hands on her and she was already allowing it and making excuses for his behavior. I would often wish, hope and even pray that my dad would come back. I'd dream of them getting back together and us being a happy family. All the things that would absolutely never happen. My father had remarried another woman and they also too had a child together. My father for the most part would come around when he could. As in, when him and my mother were getting along. I have vivid memories of my father telling my mother to get me ready to spend the day or weekend with him, only to not show up. I remember one time I fell asleep at our front door, and he didn't come to get me. All I wanted was my father to come and save me, even if it was just for a little while. My father wasn't there for me when I needed him, and I resent him for it. But I resent my mother even more for the trauma she put me through.
