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Mother and Daughter and Daughter and Mother |
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I froze. A chill ran down my spine. Are they really all gone? Every. Single. One. My husband doesn’t care, my daughter is only months old so she doesn’t even know. But I do and it’s strangely reminiscent of someone I know. She decided it was time for a change. Which meant that she’d had enough of the drug life and wanted to clean up again. It didn’t matter to her that this never works. It didn’t matter to her that I had already attended three different schools and was only in the second grade. None of that matters to her, none of that she even comprehends. Schizophrenia is a selfish disease. Bipolar disorder is a selfish disease and she will years and years later be diagnosed with both. But my suspicion is that the bipolar traits she has are due to years of meth use. Self medication? Sure, maybe. But I think she just likes it. I did. The next step was to move in with my grandparents two states away. We had a car, but we rode the train. Frank, on again off again for a number of years, would follow us later with the car, which was loaded down with our stuff. In the trunk? Every photo album, framed picture that was constantly being moved from wall to wall of our “new” place. Our car, Ethel, would carry our memories from Nevada to Colorado shortly after we arrive. But Frank never came, the car was “stolen” and with it the only evidence that I had a childhood with photographic worthy moments. Months later after Frank never showed and the clean life wore off, we headed straight back to Nevada. Now, I sit at a desk in the spare room/office. My daughter and husband in the other room. My heart beats and my palms sweat and I feel like I cannot overcome the inevitable. I will become her no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try. Of course, this isn’t true and the longer I have zero contact with her the more I heal and become who I am supposed to be as a mother but I can only feel like I’ve done what she’s done. It’s not my fault, of course, that my eight year old laptop failed. That every photo I uploaded to it, gone, every evidence that I tried to give my daughter a different, better mom than I had, whirring and scraping it’s way into nothingness. But it sure felt like it. And now almost four years later. After finding that I had been a lot more meticulous than I knew, finding half of her life on a memory card in my husband’s digital photo frame, and the other half in the camera, memory card not uploaded and saved just yet. I cried. I had proof. I wasn’t like her and was redeemed by my inability to understand computers, programs and my incessant procrastination. Except here I sit, four years, new laptop, 1TB hard drive, multiple thumb drives and memory cards later and I am not as together as I thought. I read and researched and found that the external hard drive was my answer to all my lost data problems. Or so I thought. I cried again but this time only for a moment. The cloud. That’s where it’s at....where I should have been saving it all along. THIS TIME will be different. |
| It was a few months ago when I learned that there are people in this world that do not have an inner monologue and it’s baffling to me. Not only do I have an inner monologue but I also have a soundtrack. Often situations will arise and I automatically think of a song that suits it. But not on purpose, the thing happens, the song starts playing. The one time a friend of mine was looking for my then husband and approached me and and asked where they went and I didn’t know they were supposed to wait for him. When he was super bummed that he got left behind, I actually sang to him: “I got no friends, no friends at all. People never call me and it’s all my fault.” (Pepper, Face Plant)He stomped away like, “I got friends.” I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. It just came to me. Another time when an ex showed up drunk on my porch and after talking to him for a while and realizing that he was just there because he was drunk, I told him to go home. He asked for a ride and I was like, “no, you can walk your ass home like you walked over here.” Then he asked if he could just sleep on the couch and I slammed the door shut. “I slammed the door right in your face, how’s it feel? How’s it taste?” (Pepper, Your Way). I love me some Pepper. Songs literally speak to me sometimes. I feel them through my whole body. The Mountains Win Again, Blues Traveler has literally owned me. The time I saw Incubus, a band that has ignited my soul and directed my life a time or two, a group of friends was waiting for the show to start and they were guessing what song they’d play first and all I kept thinking was: “should I throw my guess out there?” Sure enough, Megalomaniac was my guess and it was the opening song...I felt that s***. Also, the encore We Are All Tomorrow’s Food and Brandon Boyd is just standing there, absorbing the energy and nodding, like, “yeah, they get it.” Well, Brandon, I did. But it just recently occurred to me: is it not normal for someone to constantly have music playing in their head? If there are actual humans out there in the world that have no inner monologue then surely there’s people out there that don’t have a soundtrack. |
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