My birth mother gave birth to me when she was a kid. After she and my
dad divorced due to her infidelity (funny that, as you'll read later),
she got custody, as mothers usually did during the 1960s. At the age of
three, she carted me up and down the coast of California and engaged in
at least one drug-riddled, abusive relationship. I remember walking into
the kitchen late at night, after I was awakened by loud voices. My
mother had her face buried in her hands, probably to hide fresh bruises.
She and whoever the man was were fighting. They both screamed violently
at me to get out.
In addition, she routinely gave me sleeping
pills at night to keep me asleep, so that she could go out and party.
Either that or she would drop me at a sitters with no change of clothes
and disappear for days.
Following that, my stepmother was a
lovely woman who married my father when I was nearly 5. Her name was
Anita, and she looked like a movie star. But she was soon subjugated by
my father's passive-aggressiveness and unallowed to speak her mind.
After they married, Dad, who had heard what an unfit mother my birth
mother was, sued and gained custody. He brought me back from California
to Wichita and forced us to call my new stepmother "Mother", even though
I adored calling her by the exotic name she had been given. No doubt it
was too "foreign" sounding, and he was convinced she would be our true
mother. My birth mother's name was never to be mentioned in the
household, at the risk of severe punishment with belts or grounding,
both commonplace in our house. Even by my sister, who used to whip me
when I'd try to sing to the radio, telling me I couldn't sing so I
should shut up.
When my stepmother was nearly 50, my dad
divorced her after having had multiple affairs, culminating in one with
the woman for whom he dumped Anita. He left her bereft and moved away to
continue his family with his new wife, while Anita, scared and feeling
obligated to care for her ex-husband's vegetative mother, tried to claw
her way through the ensuing years. She was never allowed to handle her
own life and lived in constant codependency. Nothing much has changed.
My second stepmother, for whom Dad had left Anita and very close to my
own age, bore my father three more sons. I suppose he wanted to start
again with boys he felt he could groom into real men. He died broke,
leaving her penniless, as well. With no money of my own, I borrowed from
friends to return to Arkansas last year to manage my dad's funeral. I
helped my second stepmother with an enormous amount of financial and
other property affairs during the couple of months I was there.
And then there was my former mother in-law, who led me to believe she
was so close to me, that she even told me that if anything happened to
my ex or if we split up, I should get custody of our son, as I was
better for him than anyone she had ever met. I have not heard from this
woman in nearly 2 years, and I am unsurprised, knowing my ex's family
the way I do now.
When my ex beat me to the floor in front our
son last January, I received no calls from anyone. When I lost my father
to cancer a month later, I received no calls, other than from my second
stepmom who needed my help. When Mark kicked me out of my home after
8.5 years, I received no calls. When I lost my job due to a very
bullying boss, I received no phone calls. When I presented myself to the
Dept of Housing in Sydney to present myself as homeless, I received no
calls. From anyone except a couple of friends here in Sydney.
