Southern Women

By G. Meridian Paris

Southern Women is a unique look at life-changing events through the first-person accounts of a teen-ager, a mom and a Greek goddess.
Yes, a Greek goddess.
The book takes off right away with the teen, who is born to Egg Donor. It is a hard look at an abused child, the abuses are unimaginable acts upon the child and the description of them is hard and graphic.
She details her struggles growing up, after being adopted by a loving “Mom” and the trials and tribulations of staying one or two steps ahead of Egg Donor, who is essentially selling the child to men for their sexual and abusive pleasure.
The teen,who has a disability, and Mom also have a hard time finding schools and friends willing to accept her. It is an eye-opening chronicle of the failings and successes.
Then, during the aftermath of the April 27th storms we are taken on a side trip visit with the Greek goddess Athena who shares a unique view of the world from Mount Olympus. Obviously, this isn’t a true “first person” experience but it is an entertaining and educational look at religion.
Throughout it all there is an additional woven entanglement with political principles and also nationality.
To close, although it was not expected to be shared, we are literally driven into the tornadoes that struck North Alabama on April 27, 2011. We experience the storm’s impact first-hand and the devastation it inflicted on people and property. We stay with this teen and her mother and all the other children together in a friend’s home because they could not reach their home because of the blocked roads and loss of utilities, including limited supplies of food and fuel.
The stories are enthralling and personal. And, chances are, you may relate to the circumstances or know someone who does.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781477296141

G. Meridian Paris

This author has also written “Southern Women”, from the voice of the disabled victim fighting for normalcy, “Chameleon”, helpful points sourced from extensive experience regarding human trafficking, and now “Confessions”. The author expresses up close and personal and professional experiences.

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2013 G. Meridian Paris. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 3/15/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9612-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9613-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9614-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012923091

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

The First Beginning

A Brief Hello…

!Take Two!

Goodbye

The Escape

Don’t Look Back

The Second Beginning… Rebirth…

Real School

Life Changes Yet Again, Briefly, For Yet Another Curve Ball…

Sweet 16, …

Behind The Mask…

No Ordinary Girl

Anacardiaceae.

The Storms

Moment One…

Tomorrow

Morning Two

Friday:

April 29, 2011

Continued.

The Garden

Saturday

Sunday:

May 01, 2011

Monday

Tuesday

Wednesday

Thursday

Friday

Saturday

Sunday:

May 08, 2011

The Call With A Smile.

Friday The 13Th

Superstorms.

April 27Th

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The SOUTHERN WOMAN is the hardest to put into words.

It is a lifestyle. A part of ones soul. A goal you strive for. Something ingrained into your soul since birth. And just as people everywhere just know by the air carried when they interact with a true woman or a true man despite and no matter of their income, culture differences, circumstances, or class, one also knows by presence when they interact with a true Southern Woman.

Just as the branches leading to a major river, there are multiple histories that lead the paths of the southern woman intertwined by generations deep-rooted into a soul that is forever proudly infused with expectations, traditions, and history as they illuminate sometimes sophisticated refined and polite but definitely with class, gumption, and determination even if not always outspoken.

Although there are individual or family variations, southern women are prideful of being not just ladies but also women, the backbone to whatever their family needs, self-respect despite pitfalls, always striving for the mountain even if they cannot climb, making the effort to consider others especially at each event or location they may function in (this can be anywhere from a formal ball to church or even a school fundraiser), the caretaker that bucks up with a smile no matter the true tsunami to the situation, concerned always about the next generations education, standards and etiquettes, the responsible one, attempting to share the perfect gift of hospitality and are a genuine friend for life.

There is pride in tomorrow even if that is just going to work and briefly sharing a smile or over accomplishing the tasks at hand. Holding onto the foundations of the past that sculpted the southern woman that demonstrates the impossibly high standards and proves levels of polite inner strength that can however unleash mountain lions if only need be.

Southern Women are concern of the facade of matters and the politeness no matter the bitterness, rude, changing standards, or non feminine response of a situation.

Current Modern Southern Women may have to undertake their roles and situations in an elegant manner that the rest of the world finds antiquated yet efficient. The weekend may still end in a rocker and a traditional fresh pitcher of sweet tea with fresh lemon slices but as dedicated and religiously as they will support their children and stand by their men, they have become firm contributors to society and are just as elegant and strong in the modern life as their histories help carve the southern woman to be able to face any tomorrow no matter the ever-changing unexpected today.

Most southern women leave warm memories that youthful young southern women desire to strive for. Generous and gracious to others, open hearted, fresh gardens, hats and flowers that greet you, uniting with other southern women to help young concerns, food that greets you or is never too far, a unity of who is around balances the quality and class of person believed to influence the future and consult, everyone and they momma helping to teach respect everywhere young southern women go, although the grudges of being wrongfully crossed are held proudly for life. So much is internalized before one is added to that list that when the last straw/ last nerve is accomplished then the grudge is justified and lasts for an unbelievable eternity.

The southern woman is not always in perfection. Yet the instilled pride and past, the fear and love for God, the honor and ultimate respect for their household dynamic, and the red clay, magnolia tree, and sweet potato uniqueness and combination can only begin to fraction a light glimpse into the distinctive society of persons recognized proudly as the southern woman.

I will hopefully bloom into all aspects and more of being a proud southern woman, no matter where life may lead me.

This improper behind the curtain exposed look is raw and not pampered up for any other purpose. It was left in its raw and true state just for that reason. Part of this is even caught on tape type unexpected because it was never written for the purpose to be published but it was an intense part of what just occurred and was lived through. Yet today brings us stronger and brighter hopes for tomorrow and these were our stepping stones of today.

I have had the chance at two moms and two dads. One, female, Egg donor, never saw me but as something to use and abuse. One, male, agreed to her schemes, even if proven later on. One, male, I asked to be my dad. He was special to my family and was to be more special to my family and special to me. He agreed. Although we never had a ceremony, and as much as I tried, he never fulfilled his end of the bargain and often stood me up on most important life changes as if it were a gift to an unmentionable person I can write nothing positive about and had nothing to do with me expect in influencing my new dad regarding us, his second family. Results were that he was not living up to his promise and turned my existing life upside down as if it were disposable or worth it on some level. He was very special but he never truly became my dad. Only offered that title once. Never will again. Even though I am supposed to believe we are his loss because he could have had all and more. Despite the Jekyll and Hyde that he was, he was uniquely special so the loss was ours also and felt or understood by all members of my family.

And then there is my mom.

My mom is complex, to say the least.

She has quirky statements, like God does not make us all alike for a reason but we all have gifts and mine is my bubbly personality and singing that has developed, and these statements just make you feel better.

As serious as she can be she is also fun. Mostly, she is just mom and when people ask me about my mom I smile and say she is a kick your ass kinda person that is fondly nicknamed momma bear by some.

She can be cool and laid back but old fashioned yet there is this twist of modern when it comes to the things we do and some clothes or shoes.

Although quiet and hard to know her true tongue biting thoughts until the longwinded occasions that can even be rare but loud if need be.

My teacher and provider, a protector to fault, love with over love, believes in education strongly and pushing your limits, and jokes on the serious issues to make us feel better or will sing or call us alarm clock sharp to get up, depending on the day.

The same mom that believes in great breakfasts to start the day, fresh dinners, pre-packaged stuff for snacks or lunch although they can have some health twist, will be the same mom to make smores, brownies, or just anything on a weekend whim while still monitoring our calorie intake sometimes and remind us randomly of our proper eating.

Fun to mess with but don’t cross. Lets us know that she will always be there and for me she even jokes about planning to post my bail or for all of us she teases us about her grandchildren after our Doctorate degrees. She makes sure we take breaks to have fun in life even if it is simple because everything else had better be up front, down to the minute, and on time if not multitasked.

She has one rule. One rule with like five hundred sub rules (unspoken sub section ‘B’, letter ‘A’, roman numeral ‘XLVIII’).

Loves all kids and helps so many.

There is so much more.

Most of all day or night, just that she is my mom. She chooses to be our mom before anything else over and over. There for all of me, never off shift, and no matter what the future holds I know she always will be. Good times, bad times, fireworks high, and very crazy lows. Mom is the type that will be on the sidelines with a camera and a smile or stomping into some office making it all better and just telling you the overview without the details.

I lucked out. I got the weirdest, best, most dedicated mom that will never leave our sides although she helps us understand how to be safe and what to do when we are ready to leave. How to be physically, mentally, spiritually, and otherwise prepared while reminding us that home will always be home.

Everyone else was temporary or had an agenda. I was blessed to have a mom that has only wanted to be my loving, teaching, and cheering section mom and determined enough to keep us where in life that was possible as we try at what life is supposed to only normally throw at you or bloom with you.

This Southern Woman has had chances at mom’s and dads.

I am blessed to have had the Southern Woman only one mom that I do have.

I will leave the nest.

Continue to climb.

Not today but someday.

With all the strength and my memories also; not to be left behind but as a small part of me always.

Bittersweet, (as mom would say).

BEHIND THE MASK,

THE NAKED REVELATION

…ok, maybe not fully naked…

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THE FIRST BEGINNING

T he way I remember it, he was one of many. I wanted to please my adult figure, Egg Donor, and at the time I knew nothing else to be an option. I pleaded with her with my eyes but knew with a soaking fear better than to cross her. My tiny heart began to pound so hard, I just wanted him to go away.

I saw every step as an echo rippling in the air. He sat on the couch. They offered him beer. He lounged with one shoulder resting on top of the couch, exposing the contents of the inside coat pocket. He was not going to leave; maybe they would be kind enough to not offer me to him.

I must have stared at the back door that was in kitchen, leading into the garage, as an escape so many times. But, where would I really go and who was going to help me? I had no choice.

I folded into a ball next to an end table that cornered a wall. I could hear my stomach rumbling as it often did. That was not going to be resolved today. The food in the refrigerator was cold and I could not reach that. What I could reach had already started to get fuzzy spots on it.

They swarmed him so; I hoped they forgot about me. Every laugh was intense and took every horribly long moment from me even more. I had an itch. I refused to move. Please forget me, please forget me! The sexy dance has begun.

They swoon and act abnormal while he sits back for the demonstration of women in fool’s land. It is one of the few occasions that I still remember in full. Then she paraded in front of me, grabbing my little arm like I was a load of dirty laundry. She had me and her glass that was always an extension of herself; they followed.

There were so many scenarios combined with a blur of any random males that had happened before and after this one. But, for today, only she and he entered the room with me. He slurred to her, and she laughed as she reassured him. It was in the touches and things that often just made me curl.

It was the bottom part of a bunk bed this time, and often times. I slowly scooted backward on the unmade crumpled blanket into the corner of the foot of the bed. I do not think I knew I could scream or if anyone would have cared if I had screamed. I always would hope they would forget me. Rarely would they forget me. Sometimes the men would squirt as soon as they started and they would curse, but that would give me a freebee of not being touched or messed with. Today would not be one of those days.

He grabbed her heavy top half and acted like a cross between a wild bull and a suckling baby. I still don’t understand why men need to define us by those. And, if they do, I didn’t have any then or for most of puberty. But, then when he was all strong, swollen, and painful looking, he grabbed me by one helpless tiny arm. My young fragile body was out of the corner with one tug. He threw me to the foot of the bed on my stomach. I guess that was to give me something to hold onto. She took a pillow and put it under my belly, as if that added to any comfort.

I saw my dolly on the floor. That is why I guess I remember certain ones like this one when I have blocked so many of these mentally intentionally. The ones with triggers that just make me remember, whether I want to or not, have things like the doll, the park one, a smell, and some others. This one, I remember the dolly. I stared at the dolly.

He spit on my behind but that was not where he aimed for and before I could whine much, she had a sock ball thing that she developed that wrapped securely and was intended to hush you or gag you.

All the pain, it always seemed unending. I often would just not be there as they were still messing with my body. He touched me and was strong with me until I knew I was gone again. Only to have him remove that thing from my mouth, slap me, have me sit up as he was obviously irritated.

He said he had to go pee, and she told him where the bathroom was. She was playing in my hair when he grabbed my face hard and peed on me by aim. I still don’t remember what I did with it or about it, just that he tossed me onto the pillow with a shove and laughing.

All of this still does not impress me as measuring to be worse than what she did and the punishments that she had created. The imperfections created by these repetitious situations I have to see and live with everyday. One day, I may get those fixed. The imperfections that she created I cannot see but I have to fight harder to live with every day. I will never be able to just wake up and it not to be there, for it all to be okay somehow.

I have blocked most of this from memory. I wake up still occasionally from a bad session of recollection.

Soon after this particular session I would enter kindergarten.

Then, no matter how my little heart hoped and dreamed, I had no refuge and no idea of how to even ask or dare piece together the reality. I knew no escape from these people that thought so disgustingly and had no consideration or compassion for the little person that was so helpless to their constant subtle to harsh strong levels of abuse.

A BRIEF HELLO…

The beauty, the value of any being, is in the eye of the beholder. I am now my beholder.

I have gone through a life, or perhaps two by now. The life before and the current one after.

As I look at my life, this landmark moment, and the people who have invested their lives into mine, I wanted to share bits of my unfinished story to lift up those who may see dates come and go or events happen that will feel unsurpassable.

It is not my intent to share this part of my story to compare to others, only to join in a battle to say tomorrow can be okay because ‘it will not always be like this’ as my adoptive grandfather used to say to my mother. He did it to secure empty promises but there is a power we feel in those words still passed down from her to me.

Now, I feel that promise too reminding myself that my past is not my future although I have to still fight to find strength or the correct and true answer for the right path sometimes. I provide this raw part of me, to hope only that it will help anyone else to find their inner part that often is unknown and will give much needed strength, a screaming defense, a refuge of their own, at least an outlet of understanding until they too can find one.

Although still fragile, I am not willing to make my past my future and I must remind myself that I will not always feel the past the way I do sometimes. In other words, it will not always be this way and I will make myself stronger as so many are helping me to do this. I believe in myself and others. I fall into the rare rescued and surviving category that now has determination and aspirations which is a unique club of its own. I do hope with all my being that my darkness that brings occasional storm clouds even still that demands my current determination and climb for the sunshine guaranteed to me will let all others know that as long as they can see the sunshine then please climb for it too. And you can!

In this category I have studied other countries that the kids do not even know who their biological parents are. I became interested with a friend of mine who was adopted from a place like this. I want all of these kids to know what love is instead of being in existence for a purpose, like work. I know who my donor probably is. My donor is of pure evil but I was given to the best love bubble that no matter how I feel is still there with my mom and the other kids.

Can you imagine not being so lucky and every face you look into you wonder if it is your parent or being like my friend and wondering what your parents kept in order to give you up for someone else to love or do their bidding with. As much as people want you to appreciate what you have got and be lucky like my friend who had adoptive parents who loves him there just has to be a piece that tears at you because you also were not bread for love like I was not either. Only they also can look into a thousand faces and not know if those who do not care about them from birth is looking right back at them. That has to be horrifying.

I can only start of what I understand to be my day one. My mom teases me and says that I derived from a pink and purple egg; that she knew what she was getting. This pink and purple egg could have come from the stork that was very accurately flying overhead and decided to just plop me in some random field where she found me. This pink and purple egg could have been beamed by this spaceship that on some versions had a Bigfoot on it or had a shape of a football just because I love football so very much. Then I was beamed down ever so gently to her in the field.

The details are joking and rotating factors. When she wants to play about an eating binge that I may have she will say do you know how you got out of that egg? You ate your way out and then said your first word, McDonald’s! I didn’t have to try to get you out; you were too hungry to stay in!

For another version she has made me feel better about my ankles where I am sensitive and said that without my soccer ankles I could not have kicked my way out and be ready to kick butt at the same time and what egg is most perfect for her than the one with the soccer ankle baby ready to kick diaper butt! It is funny. Sometimes I am wearing a piece of the eggshell on my head and I am running around wearing the egg as a bubble suit thing! Usually I have cute bouncing pigtails because I did when I was tiny. In any version, it is always funny and I am always the pink and purple egg. It is just our thing and always a smile!

That may have happened later but the first trip into the world was very different. To the history told to me with input by many and to the few documents that my very shielding mother has, my biological mother, henceforth referred to as what she was, Egg Donor, was an extremely smart gorgeous delectable Betty Boop that used her children and her husbands of many. She did not hold a motherly instinct, only a financial one. She had interesting jobs and spoke multiple languages and traveled the world. She was gorgeous and evil to the last speck. She was manipulative and knew how to sell anyone else’s soul, as they say, for exuberant prices of whatever she wanted.

But, as the many husbands faded, her cruelty to the children of the generations increased with her torturous training from a serious entity. I came so much farther down the line from her first child and we can only hope and pray that I am her last, if I am her true child and not some catalog baby kidnap. I am pretty sure that I am not a catalog baby but there are circumstances that were shown to us later that just raise a questioning eyebrow or two. As much as you like to know where you came from I once heard another sibling say that you wake up and question if it is biologically going to kick in one day. I do too. Am I going to just wake up one day just like the Hulk juice kickin’ in and be zombie evil ass number one?

Another sibling child before me died because of her and the story is told to me from those who were of respected authoritative generations of the older generations. It was that the Egg Donor systematically planned the death for the insurance pennies even before the child was born. I have been asked details of if she ever collected the funding but I would not dare ask the only one who would tell me the truth on those details to this point. It is a sore topic.

My older siblings know that she flaunted and let one of them meet their soon-to-be deceased sibling. This older sibling played and bonded with this tiny tot. Time passed of the sounds, the fingers and the toes fluttering from the crib. Then, they had to leave. The one we affectionately referred to as grandmother said she knew about the calls way back then about the insurance plot and the things to transpire after between my biological Egg Donor and the male father of that sibling. Not only did the grandmother’s personal accounts validate so much but mom usually had some documentation or another here and there. This was since she said all of these things had to be verified before my gorgeous explosion onto the scene, which she even documents a lot, even now, in regards to me and my things. So, not only the papers mom may have on this and the story grandmother accounted for but even the mother to the father of that sibling child said alarms were going off for them at the time because of many things dealing with Egg Donor.

Ironically, Egg Donor held what was considered one of the most stable jobs of her time very early on in her life and her positioning in family name and other areas said she did not need the money.

What she turned to and did with children was done purely out of sickness. A sickness apparently she will carry on in her and share upon others down the road to never turn back. You would think that this sickness would have been limited to targeting her own offspring. There has been proof and statements that she holds victims across the board, not caring, just as long as they fell vulnerable.

The story goes that she rode her limo across multiple states claiming she was bringing the tiny innocent perfect child for a visit and introduction to those who had not met him. Still before my time and probably the first of her torture tour, she had pre-investigated and then purchased the cemetery resting spot for him and conveniently had used it before her arrival at the end destination of the conclusion of this basic trip. It was so strategically planned, it was sick. This child that could have been a glowing spot in this world; may have made a powerful difference, but was only seen as a precious means to an end which will become an apparent theme between everyone that this Medusa would come in contact with, to include us kids.

With the realization of how valuable my life is still yet to be you cannot help but realize if someone had just fully taken her down at this point, not turning their heads or giving the benefit of the doubt or whatever they called themselves doing, all the pain and agony that she went on to continue to inflict, very possibly to others even this very moment today, would never have occurred.

With this history, prestige, overly educated brains that she would never use and drop dead beauty, she matured and graduated in comfort of the areas of pain and torture. Receiving honors by doing so many other things of sickness during the years prior to my spaceship crashing into this world. There is no way to summarize all of it. I guess I really had no chance once she had been fermented to the point where I came along. She already had my intended destiny mapped out in a path of pain, blood, and a short life.

It is told that Egg Donor herself had received abuse at the hand of her mother in a world of formality and wealth but it was nowhere near of this sort. When her mother would argue with her she would wrap her long hair, which was a trend for the times, around her hand and throw her like a bowling ball into walls. Everyone found things like this acceptable back then so in all irony she also had no one to scream to that would care or help. Later, despite the possible love factor that may have existed, her first husband tried the same thing maybe at least once. It was a witnessed sight apparently never able to be forgotten by the one who saw it.

This same mother of Egg Donor was a very extremely high leader of a faith and belief that I am shielded from knowing about or understanding. My mom knows quite a bit about it. She says you just have to understand that God is more powerful than who they evoke. Most people just choose to believe others of any other areas spiritually just do not exist. There were things that mom saw that she will not openly say but she says God will not share our hearts and to be closed minded to all that is against Him is being a fool just as we also have to respect those who choose not to believe in Him as He empowers them with the choice of blindness or pain and if God loves them just the same then so do we.

Whatever she was, the don that was grandmother, she was a powerful woman and had very powerful people to recognize or follow her. She made places shake and other things dramatically happen when she even fussed. I cannot begin to imagine what it possibly could be that I am not being told if she really could do that.

Yet, as much as Egg Donor was raised during her childhood to believe she was in position enough to be taken care of and that men would be honored and rewarded just by her presence, she was never raised to believe that children were nothing or also a meal ticket nor assaulted in those type of ways herself. Or so I am told. To the best of what limited things are told to me and that I have bothered to ask, it helps begin a completion toward understanding an unending question of why me?

When I was in the vicinity of this lady and she could see me, could rescue me, she did not. She made tiny outfits. Some cute but most were a tiny version of in the Club 22-year-old things. A skirt that did not even cover the diapered area was designed in a way that it served a purpose - not that it was cute. A toddler in a two-piece may be cute. A nipple-showing, one-shoulder half-shirt with latches and connects for a tiny skirt topped off with a sort of almost-heels that were not from Disney still is a shocker to this day.

I do not think I would care that there was an outfit that would be for evil appreciation of me, religious domination, generational purposes. There were many times that I was told this woman wanted me to follow her leadership one day because she thought I was pure blood and she hated mixed blood. Now, we are just guessing, but we think I am mixed blood.

She had all those resources, funding, and connections. After everyone who never decided to come after me besides my mom, she never did, and she only helped the pain she witnessed not rescuing me. She proved even for her worst intent I was not worth all she used to crack things up to be.

My mom used to rock me and say maybe these people like her actually know that I was better off and safer where I was and they did not want to lead anyone else to me by finding me themselves. Mom tried. I just knew all the bad people came relentlessly and very creatively, but those who were supposed to care, even though they all were pretty bad in my sight, still never even lifted a finger to try. At least they could have stopped the really bad guys from coming if I was supposed to be anything to them. They did not even do that. I was nothing to them and they know it.

My mother speaks as if she can forgive Egg Donor for whatever supposed disease that makes her like this with not understanding or believing any of the explanations that Egg Donor gave because of the opposite results that were in my memory or on me.

These were rare explanations poured from Egg Donor long ago that were to justify the actions, yet not to ask for or believe the need for forgiveness of herself, although she truly thought of herself to appear exceptionally exquisite - not abnormal - no matter who was the cost. Mother would not tell me most of these in detail. Once I had gotten a hold of them because others would not let me forget what they knew or what horror that I come from. Then I would ask of her to confirm or deny them but she had a huge thing of not adding to the pain I already had with answers she just knew would hurt me or create memories that I should never have known about. She is cool with what I remember on my own but is very big about telling me what I do not know even now at this age and I know that mom knows way more. She says she will disclose some when I am on my own two feet and when the info will not hit me one way or another. But she usually won’t leave me dangling if I find out on my own either.

One funny thing that my mother used to do was to wrap gifts at Christmas to tell me that Egg Donor really did care. Egg Donor sent me one gift in my lifetime. It was to a lawyer and was so late it was retarded. When I got up the nerve to tell mom I knew it was mom with all the gifts she held me and told me that, no matter how many mistakes I make, I will always be so special and she wanted me to know nothing was my fault and to feel all this love. Nothing may have been my fault but boy I got some strong reminders of how not to do those same not my faults again next time.

The game of finding those gifts before they were wrapped and figuring them out again was way funny. It was not only Egg Donor’s gifts that this happened with. It was mom’s and Santa’s too. It was a charades of epic proportions since I was rarely out of her sight and then there came the charades of how the gift came and got into the house. She always could distract me with some new food project like cookies, gingerbread houses, decorating cakes that were in the shapes of things, bagging class gifts, an edible purse for marshmallows that I just ate the bag of marshmallows, and these type things but they sure did not give her near the amount of time that I think she may have needed. I was lightly spoiled rotten, not bad, and I did not know it then. Not for what I just listed but for the general way things were. I guess it was to cover things up like the dramatics of every day. To include those stories.

I do get the impression that I received the light version of the Halloween story this woman demonstrated. One such story was if Egg Donor was raped in a tent overseas or by co-workers then Egg Donor found that to be the norm. This is just what is going to happen and there is nothing anyone can do about it. To Egg Donor this helped justify what she wholeheartedly believed was bound to happen to kids anyway so what she did or the situations she left kids in where they ended up in horrible situations was just beating fate to the punch anyway.

Apparently she decided not to report what had happened to her or try to stand up for herself. When I approached mom with the story, she grumbled more, saying that she wished that people would quit sharing more burdens for me to carry - things that I did not have to know about – but to answer my questions because it was natural for me to be curious; she thought, for whatever reason, it may not have been that easy for Egg Donor to perhaps report it.

She also said there is no reason to hurt an angel so there was no reason to hurt me. As I smiled at mom, I remember feeling that I was no angel. I still get in trouble with her so maybe to have me for the point of making me men’s and women’s trash hole was the true thing. Maybe it was wrong of mom to try and hide from those people who keep trying to get me feeling like they had already paid for me was right. I would not dare say something like this to mom. She was like barbed wire Ninja with kisses. It did not go well in my head then or now to say something like that to her.

Most of the things that Egg Donor blamed had nothing to do with intimacy or closeness. The drunken frustrated explanations usually were that child-mother battle. It was that Egg Donor was honorable and her mother would put Egg Donor in her place either verbally or by swinging her into walls by her long hair.

Egg Donor was so antsy that she left home as a teenager and married in defiance into an equally or more dominant family that would have been forbidden. She was of legal age although still a drop-dead gorgeous teenager. Soon after she married she became pregnant. The first child was accidentally hurt at first but then intentional abuse followed after returning to the States. Later, this was said to have been training. It was coupled with so much else that could have been considered elite or nice.

That first child said how hard it was to begin to remember being set up with several babysitters at once by Egg Donor. None of the influential life or multiple languages or unique life or anything that came after compared to this.

Everyone was hoping that they would forget so there were a lot of episodes of trying to discourage the memory. This child said that it was a memory never to be forgotten when they stood face to face with one of the babysitters, as a much older person. This was not the only thing. It was just the first thing that could be personally remembered. Later, they would accidentally be driven past the location for not-so-good results but at least a new grip of something that happened long ago.

Another child holds a crooked love for their father but has always questioned if he was the biological father. There are multiple stories similar to the swinging 1960s type that Egg Donor was doing, and then the father admitted to later doing, that continued in the States, that led the child to believe a hesitation. The very first child holds strong to the fact that their dad has never wavered once on his admission and honoring them in at least this fashion.

For this child, this part of the story is funny at least to hear. They say that it depends on who tells the story on who cheated first.

The story is always a laughing matter when told to me. But, in my defense, all stories told by mom are funny. She just makes them in a way that even Bugs Bunny would be rollin’ because that is just how mom tells things.

My version: Imagine old world with the works. That was them and then this very young couple that apparently had to explore outside of each other despite how hot both of them were at the time. The jest is that she walks into his office when she was not expected. She is his wife so I guess she can do that. He had a picture of another woman on his desk that he traded out with hers when she was known to be coming. Again, I can only imagine the parts here that I am too young to know.

She begins an affair with someone who knows both of them. He is hot, too, although it is known that she made no preference in her affairs, man, woman, couple or whatever. So, the husband went to their home for lunch just as unexpected as she was at his office. The guy who was having the affair took a flying leap out of the second-story bedroom window.

Now, if not before, husband felt permission and began an affair that he admitted to because of the guy flying out of the window. Current children have popcorn side view of the whole event. Too funny. Way too funny! Little did he know what he was getting away from before it started within her against children although the children would not have the same fate.

They returned to the States without any attachment to the people who they had affairs with. Or so it was thought. Years later there were suggestions, innuendos and strong indications that he may have left and revisited a family he helped create over there. And that means - because of his pride, reputation, new family life, or just the fact of it being way off base and wrong - the family in the States sadly will never get to know them if they did truly exist.

Though Egg Donor was rarely there through the years, she still managed to mentally torture the children before and after returning to the States, abuse them or have others do it, sell real type pictures of the other child before they were even a teenager, and other very crazy horrors. Imagine hearing of those who may be related to you and all you can really get to know about them early on is their horror experiences as they report them legally.

Oddly, she played such a small force in their lives and an even smaller but always lingering force in mine. She is next to none of the history for the children before me. For me, being such a crazy long time later, even though she is not there, it is what she has already done that is like a ghost that rides on my back and whispers into my ear.

!TAKE TWO!

I will loop now back to my original; my second beginning. I roll my eyes and smile at my true mother as she says when often she looks at me eye to eye, you were a pink and purple egg. I cannot even write that without smiling. Every baby after me had their own thing they came from and it all started with me. I was the only monkey but I was always and the only pink and purple egg. She wanted me to feel like a warm baby in a onesey who curls up with no worry in the world; no matter how old I get or what I get into.

The pink and purple egg, yeah, it comes with a whole entire story line too that was so believable until that disturbing crack-open-your-belly Barbie came out and then I had a what you talkin’ ‘bout Willis moment. Now, it is just cuddly funny. I even joked with her when I learned some disturbing things about eggs in a Petri dish from school. Mom rolled with it even though it was disturbing to her they were teaching that sort of thing before I turned, I don’t know, 80! Now, it is just our thing and comfy funny.

When my mother had other children that is when they seemed the most peaceful, when they were asleep all cuddled in a onesey. She still smiles at us goofily when we sleep and we are guaranteed that she is up as a protector for most nights just checking in on us so we do take advantage of it and rest without a care in the world. And she tells the others stories too, like they came from melons, watermelons, yellow watermelons with flashlights, or acorns; funny.

Apparently, she was not in contact with this woman, Egg Donor, but used to rarely. Mom wanted to get to know her. But, mom was grown and she did not want to be hurt by her again. It is a part I find hard to relate to. People mom’s age when she got me were not in the things she was; such as the education, modeling and singing and traveling and living like my mother did as a norm. Yet, when she spoke to Egg Donor, it was like she was a vulnerable five or something as an adult. I am assuming. I was not really here yet.

After many years and asking through legal issues, I have learned the day of my conception. Egg Donor called my mother and told her how drunk she had gotten and of how she had slept with a student of hers not even realizing she had conceived me in that moment. Later, she even said it was rape. Mom said from the sound of her she probably did not truly volunteer to anything knowingly. Much later on, through all the twists and turns, the Egg Donor claimed rape from a prominent, well-known citizen; although, she would never say to mom or to the court who he was. It does not bother me that this is my conception story but mom hated it and would not have let me know about it unless it did not come up in other ways.

Some things I had to find out. Some things I wanted to know and eventually I would at least have a basic answer. For most of those things that happened to me or are associated with my history or the history of those who are involved in my history, mom is and has always been firmly the type who did not lead the conversation with details. Those are things that she would rather you to forget for the hopes of future happiness or just let you speak them out on your own if you did remember but would not indulge with additional details that you are supposed to know. It was frustrating for the longest when you know there are tons of things that can be answered or you just want to hear. Eventually, everything just settled with enough of how things just were going to go for now on this. Mom would at least tell me in my figuring out that did not happen, if she knew. She would tell me of things that she knew if someone else legal or not gave me pieces of a story that I wanted to know the whole of as long as it was not intense. Eventually, I will want to know so much more and maybe she will be accepting that I just want to know, instead of figuring out all by myself all and everything from along the way of what happened and the details that young people just do not know.

For a part of the process to get me, we had to figure out about the dad in the picture. Although we tease mom about being the dad and definitely on Father’s Day that was not the one they had to find. What they did tell me is they made mom pay for lots of listings in lots of places and no one replied. The person that Egg Donor said was actually was not. Now they were worried that anyone else would not for good reason step up if it is not to help. At first I wanted to ask why they cared so little that they left me to a life that they did not expect me to live through. Then, I wanted to know why they did not hunt for me like my mom did in all those listings. But now I know that I cannot stand anyone who would have given me to Egg Donor on purpose and just walked away. I have gotten love when I wanted it and when I did not from my mom. I know my mom will go broke trying to pay for anything I need or want even in the middle of the night if she had to. I don’t care anymore why they gave me up even if it is a whole different set of parents. They walked away never checking again and not caring. The life I was created for, the life that I started out in, I would not be here today. So in another way their child, Egg Donor’s child, left the day that they inflicted pain on me and mom rescued me. I am now fully my mom’s child not caring why the others did not care enough at someone who would have loved and cared for them.

Egg Donor spoke several languages and is said to have an impressive educational portfolio of extensive degrees or accomplishments that gather dust for no use. Mother does not know what she taught.

As the months moved on, Egg Donor still drank and tried creative and spiritualistic traditional ways to get rid of me as I grew within her. Some of these were ridiculous such as dealing with a dead chicken and some sounded to be scary, such as shoving hangers up in herself. Egg Donor was ritualistic toward the spiritualist things and mother is a devout Christian with a respect for those who are not; which is odd to me.

She says she just has a gag only strictly for those who will misrepresent their beliefs like someone who would fondle and mentally harass someone then go and present themselves as pillars of faith. Not those who actually practice different faiths. She said she actually knows someone who documented someone else with their camera phone behaving like that. After what I have experienced I am beginning to understand what she means.

Other things Egg Donor tried my mother knows, but mom refuses to share with me and she says all that I need to know is that I made it despite her evil efforts. I was hanging on in there with both hands probably gurgling, singing and eating up a storm. The drinking Egg Donor did or whoever did while they were pregnant with me was proven by medical tests they had to do a long time later on me. Mother says it shows my driven intention to make a difference here somehow from the beginning. And, as she plays with me, she will say it was my demand to make a grand arrival; I smile.

My mother was already in often phone calls with Egg Donor at that time so I like to believe that I knew her voice before I came out. That must have been hard for mom to listen to knowing Egg Donor was trying to hurt me or make me go away and mom was so far away and unable to help me. She said I was fighting everything that was coming at me, while God was making my vital organs, while I was loopy from all the booze, and came out a cute songbird to boot. Because I can be so bubbly on so many days, mom says it is oblivious to the subtleties around me but just my personality, she teases me that I still reach back from time to time to the tipsy effects that are lingering of that booze. I can laugh just out of nothing and sometimes so can she. But mine will have me rolling on the floor or seeing butterflies that others are just too late to pay attention to. She says the blessing is that at least most of my days are happier than most others since it is reality that is hard for me.

Mom has never stopped my sometime overloads unless we are somewhere like a meeting or church. Otherwise she just shrugs, smiles, and says that I must have found the bottle again. Not literally. Since Egg Donor used to force it upon me and overloaded herself with it, as I described to the legal people, I cannot stand the stuff. She just means because I seem to be over happy. She claims I am back in the chocolate factory as a reference to a few over happy scenes to the movie of Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory where they were bubbly and giggly.

At the time of my birth, Egg Donor claimed to my mother that I was so big it made it impossible for Egg Donor to have any more children. Mom said she never believed it and said it was just another tear-felt saga added to her usual drama. The tear-felt sagas were dramatically told reasons or stories filled with emotions that were actually completely hollow and, just like trick mirrors, they were just there to shield from the true view of what should be seen of her drama that was always and really hiding in the background. Apparently the drama always hit hard because it was not normally expected of whatever came next.

During the process of permanently getting me, I had to be pleaded for in multiple locations, countries, and there was never a plea from anyone against Egg Donor for me or to ask to support me. I never matched any missing child reports in addition to whatever other hoops they put it through. I don’t know what it was but it was a lot. So no matter how I landed with her, I know I was with Egg Donor and no one other than mom stepped up for me. Much later, when mom found out what happened to me and had medical proof and then even more happened to me from the kidnapping, she investigated with a fury if you may legally sterilize a woman and under what circumstances. So if the birth story of me was maybe not true, mom searched for answers of what was true. I do not know if we ever can find out a real positive answer. I do not care anymore. I was born from or given to Egg Donor for the purpose of hell. My mom got a pink and purple egg and tried to protect me from that hell that still tries to find me to finish what it started then and with the kidnapping. It can be suffocating because mom’s protection does not have an off switch although she is getting better with certain things. Although I know what it came from and have seen it help too many times but on other things I do wish mom’s protection came like a dimmer switch to where you could lower it.

I know a little of my supposed birth family, my mother knows much more. I know a lot of the birth culture that we share. She makes sure of that. My mother also holds a very special place for those that are of somewhat family to my birth mother. She shares that when the subject must arise. It is not now a subject that is casually