I'm a hardheaded person; I know that. But no one can say I don't do my best to overcome myself. It's hard to admit, but I know my stubbornness isn't always helpful and things I tell myself can be destructive. If anyone asked my mother, she'd dress it up like a Salem witch and call me mentally dysfunctional.
I assume she's seen her fair share of shrinks, and naturally that rubbed off on my otherwise peachy childhood. Yes, yes, I speak in jest. If I've learned anything from my past, it's to not take yourself too seriously. But I grew up slicked with the residue of past therapists and "How do you feel about that" s. Let me tell you; it's like living under a microscope, and my mother was constantly scrutinizing my every move. It was easier to make due with my given situation when my Dad was still around. He was a good man, I swear. He even married someone like my mother when he found out she was pregnant with me. He is the one who talked her out of the abortion. How could I think ill of him?
Statistics don't tell you shit. Statistics will tell you that fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. So, my situation is just another common statistic? People can just shrug off what I feel because one out of two people feel it too? If that's the case, that's even more reason to start doing something about this. Don't ask me what. I have no idea. My Dad promised he would always be there for me. I haven't seen him in years. I used to think that my mother was keeping me from him on purpose, but I gave up on that a long time ago. When shit like that goes down, you really need to learn to grow up fast.
I wasn't ready to grow up. My mother pushed me harder, saying that I needed to find a boyfriend, and later, that I needed to find a husband. She was always like that, wanted me to marry young. Looking back, I'd bet she wanted me to relive her life, but somehow change it to make it better. I knew that could never happen; I was too scared to end up like her. And I'm still scared sometimes about how much I'm like her.
My cello was sometimes the only thing that kept me going through middle school. When my dad just up and left, of course there were rumors that started. I had a few friends that stuck with me, but I drew back. I hid myself in music. My mother would pace the house in a tizzy whenever I'd play. My Dad taught me; it must have reminded her of him. I'd play on purpose sometimes when she was particularly strained. I was a real bitch to her, even though she kind of deserved it.
I still wonder if I love my mother. Aren't we naturally programmed to love our parents? I know I love my Dad, even if I haven't seen him in so long. I love the memory of him. My mother
I don't even think about her if I can help it. In more recent years, we have both come to have a mutual pity for each other. And we both hate it. Can you even call that love? Or tolerance? Love is hard to describe. From the thousands of years of people trying to define it and failing, I would say it's nearly impossible. That is until you feel it. It's really something else. Like you don't even care about your own life anymore. As soon as that person comes into your life, they are all you see; nothing else matters but them. It's horribly clichéd and if not for my present situation, it would make me gag.
When I was younger, I was swept away with the idea of love. To add another horrible cliché, I was in love with love. Since I'm on a roll here, might as well add that it was because of my "Daddy issues". At least, that's what my childhood knowledge of psychology would deduce. I only had one boyfriend, and his name was David. I never talk about him, and I'm not going to start now. What's in the past stays there. I'm not going to let it haunt me again. All I ever say about him is that if I was the mirror image of my Dad, then he was the mirror image of my mother. My relationship with him was close to that of my Dad and mother. We were together all through high school and part way through college. Then I caught him cheating and that's where I stop talking. If I talk about him too much, I'd pretty much be reversing years of self-treatment therapy. I was bitter and angry for a long time. Once I stopped, or at least began to control my emotions, I never looked back. If I turned around, even once, it would all come flooding back. Every promise David broke. "I will never leave you". He said that a lot. He would talk about getting married and having kids. I never wanted kids. My parents taught me a lesson on that one.
There are a lot of things I don't like to talk about from my teenage years. Some of them, because I'm not completely sure if they happened or not. The human mind can be a powerful weapon, so I've heard. I've read articles on memories, how the mind fills in the blanks with what a person subconsciously wanted to have happen. That's what confuses me about another time in my life. I guess you could call it my second love, if David counts as the first. Although, he was always a little too fantastic to seem completely human. Trying to remember it, it always feels fuzzy, like I'm trying to fight through a massive cloud of fog just to recall what happened. I do remember that his name was Tesla, and I'm pretty sure he was an alcoholic. Or something like that. He always smelled like alcohol, but not like the cheap stuff you get from a run down bar. Tesla smelled like the kind of nice wine they cook with in France. Then again, it could just be my memories just running together. He's the reason I don't drink any more. He's kind of the reason I got my life back together after the David incident. Well, it wasn't really David's fault. I mean, I was the one who decided to drop out of school and go back home. But still, I blamed David for a long time. But after Tesla dropped in and out of my life, leaving a wake of chaos in his path, I didn't have a choice but to get my life straight. I'm thankful for him. Again, I hate going into the details about him. It's the past, right? Still, after he happened, I saved up enough money to go to a local college. I started playing in the community volunteer orchestra. I got my own apartment. I was doing fine on my own. But fate has never been good with leaving me along, in peace.
It never used to bother me, being compared to my Dad. That sure changed when I had my daughter. She's the only person that I can say I love with all my heart, and I know that will never change. When I first found out I was pregnant, right after getting my life back "on track" so to speak, I was terrified I was becoming my mother. I still get scared about that a lot. No one ever wants to become their parents. Who would? I know now that Tessa's the best thing that has ever happened to me. And yes, if Tessa had been a boy, I'd of named him Tesla. It's really the least I can do. He's the guy who finally gave me some perspective of the world. No matter how much I moped about my life, he could give me any situation from his life that was way worse.
Perspective is always good. I need it a lot of days, especially the days when Tessa starts asking about her own father. It makes me feel like Hester Prynne from whatever that book was that we all had to read in high school. So what if a chick gets knocked up out of a crime of passion? It's her decision whether or not to tell people who the father was. I'm not some huge slut. People think I am because, again with the clichés, of the "Daddy issues". I've heard comments more that once about how Tessa will be a slut too because she doesn't have a father. Of course I know who the father is. And he knows about Tessa too. And it's my decision to keep it to myself why he and I both decided that it'd be better for me to raise Tessa alone. I shouldn't be punished for loving someone, and I loved Tessa's father when, uh, well, you know. I love him then. Isn't that all that matters? Tessa was made out of love, not out of some drunken hook up. More importantly, I love Tessa more than anything in the world, ask anyone. So far, she's the only one in my life that hasn't broken a promise to me. And even if she did, I wouldn't love her less for it.
I realized a long time ago that promises aren't always kept. It took a little longer to realize that sometimes promises can't always be kept. But I didn't realize until my Tessa was born that sometimes, broken promises can make way for miracles. I promised myself I would never have kids. That's one promise I'll never regret breaking.