Wednesday, May 25, 2011



I wouldn't want to get all emotional on here, but I want to get something off my chest....

In a previous post, I am sure that I have wrote about my biological mother. You know, the woman that left her poor helpless children for drugs and a lifestyle that nobody would dream of wanting?? Yup, that is the one.

Anyways, I was over at my padre's house on Sunday for a quick stop and my little bro, Ty Ty (Justin Bieber look alike) gave me a notebook.

A notebook that supposedly my mother wrote in from when I was born to when she left. Each entry was addressed to me, a diary to me I suppose.

I grabbed the notebook and we left shortly after. On Monday, I was on my way to work, I grabbed the notebook and stuck it in my purse, thinking, well maybe I will read it if I get bored at work...  Now that it is Thursday, I have yet to look at the notebook. I haven't really had a chance to read it due to work responsibilities, but  I am afraid to read it.

Afraid is probably the best way I can explain how I feel about the notebook.  Afraid that I will all the thoughts and feelings that I have had bottled inside for 15 years will just spill out onto the floor. Afraid that it will bring back old emotions over again, that I have to learn to get over and move on from.

I just dont think I want to bring that onto myself at this stage in the game. I have grown up without a mother for so long and to think that maybe in that gray, rustic, torn apart, smelly notebook, it will somehow show that she cared for me as her child. That she wanted to be my mom instead of a drug addict to gave her children up to get high.

I have so many emotions that nobody knows about because I have made myself believe that I was not hurt by the fact that she abandoned me. She abandoned her flesh and blood, she abandoned her babies. Not just me but my baby brothers, her family. I am over it.....

I'm not ready for the notebook. I am not reading the notebook.

1 comment:

  1. If you ever decide to read the journal and want a sounding board, call me. No matter what the hour.