More of the same 2.14

Well 2.14.18 came and went. Last year I put it in my head that if the Hippie could pick a day to pass it would be 2.14. Not because we know that as Valentine’s Day but because that’s his lucky number. He used 214 for everything. Years back he told me he would only pay for my wedding if it was 2.14 so of course on 2.14.98 I almost married a terrible guy but I called the wedding off the summer before. I have huge abandonment issues. I probably have more issues than that because hello, have you read about my childhood?!? I don’t trust people. I am pretty sure I will be murdered in some horrific way (ok yes all murder is horrific). The last ten years or so I learned all these are due to his choices and I won’t chase him and beg for attention. He chose to turn my life upside down when he told me to find a new place to live when I was 16 because he wanted to move to Jamaica and become a full on drug Lord. I cannot tell you how many of my friends’ families took me in. I always had food and a place to sleep but it was a very strange few years. The terrible man I mentioned above was my version of escape but when you are raised with as much violence as I was, then you do not see the signs “normal” people might see. Some people think the step-monster was good for me but she was probably more toxic then the Hippie and Debbie. I once found a diary from when I was 8 or so and I was writing about lying on the living room couch watching the step-monster have a full melt down and she was throwing kitchen knives at my dad and they stuck in the wall. We no longer had a kitchen clock because she threw that at him and it shattered. Yes, with all this going on little Heather is sitting on the couch writing in her diary or reading a book because this was our normal! I don’t remember why she slapped me when I was wearing braces but the wire on my braces came loose and cut my cheek. I had to go to the Ortho to have it fixed and I still have a scar on the inside of my cheek to this day. It took me years to realize that my childhood was effed up because again it was my normal. I have seen the Hippie maybe 10 times since he was kicked out of Jamaica in 2005. I hurt for him because he’s my dad and I know he did the best he could. I know he loves me but he never chose me. He never chose to protect me from the step-monster. He was so focused on someone kidnapping me (ok again in his defense Debbie’s step-dad did make a threat) that he never thought to look at what the violence around us was doing. I laugh when I think back to when my husband and I first started dating. He has a “typical” family even though his parents divorced when he was in college; everyone gets along and loves each other. No drugs. No violence. Ross and I had only been dating six months or so and in this six months my 13 year old sister and her friend discovered her friends’ mothers body after she was raped by her boyfriend and her throat was slit. The girls walked right in her bedroom after being in the house about 30 minutes eating breakfast. Then the day before Valentine’s Day (1999) my sisters dad was shot five times at point blank range (he is still alive). Ross quickly got a glimpse of craziness. Even with this craziness Ross used to push me to interact with my family because simply they are family. Fast forward twenty years and Ross wants them no where around any of us. They are selfish. They are all toxic and still I hurt for the Hippie that he is sick. I cannot go to him. I cannot chase him because in the end he is still going to die and that will hurt me worse if I grow close with him again. If he wants to talk to me he will have to call me.


A year later…

I don’t have a health update on the Hippy as we have not spoken since August 2017. My FaceBook On this Day is currently having me relive all the details of the Hippy’s surgery and recovery. Sometimes it makes me sad that this is all I have. Yes, I could call him but he could call me also. I am sure anyone reading this thinks I am a horrible cold person but I ask you to not look at this through your lens but through mine. I did not have a loving supportive family unit. The Hippy raised me and then kicked me out when I was 16 because he wanted to chase a dream. He missed my high school years. I was not able to attend college right after high school because of his decision to leave and live in Jamaica. He chose drugs over his child. He missed my wedding. He missed my first college graduation (ok he attended the second but for five minutes). He never had a Funeral for my grandmother when she passed away and she was my everything. I regress, here we are a year later and honestly I am cold and emotionless. Of course I wish him well but I also know that having your parents alive and not interested in you or your life makes me long for them to be gone so I no longer feel abandoned each time I think of them. Again, not really an update at all.