Since he enjoys visiting my blog and reporting everything he reads here back to my mother, perhaps he will enjoy reading about himself.
My mother and her ex-husband met around the time that I was leaving middle school. For over seven years and to this day, I’ve had to deal with his presence, however minor, in my life. I was the only one who would stand up to him. One of the deans at my university suggested that I write a book about my family experiences, prominently highlighting the horrible, drama-filled experiences this man inflicted on me and my family.
We called police on him on multiple occasions after he started arguments and shouting matches, which I unwittingly participated in to defend myself. He struck me in my face at least twice, resulting in a brawl twice. He hit my mother. My brother saw the inside of a jail for the first time in his life because of this man, because he tried to defend us from him and mom’s ex-husband called the police on him (he himself was also arrested that night, thankfully though at my brother’s expense). He called the police on me on multiple occasions, resulting in at least one humiliating experience as the police treated me like the criminal. He quarreled constantly with my mom over money that he freely gave her. When he lived in our house, he scarcely paid his share of the bills (seeing as how he can’t keep a job and is in and out of mental facilities); mom makes more than him and, true to his patriarchal, Christian view of the world, he has never forgiven her for it. He promised to drive us place like school or to the store or to certain events, then tried to kick us out of the car when we disagreed with him over one thing or another; my mom has had to walk home before on several occasions. He let our male cats outside constantly until two of them disappeared and one became infested with fleas and scarred uo from fights with who knows what, claiming that “a man needs to go out” (though I tried to argue that they were domesticated cats, not “men”). He wrote fraudulent checks on an account he had with me and mom, resulting in the loss of the account and an embarrassing experience at the bank. He treated me like I was stupid and helpless because I’m a girl, then got mad when my every action proved him wrong. He verbally abused me and my family. The one thing I can’t forgive is all the trash he talked about my brother at funeral over his coffin. Having lasted nearly a decade, the list of shit goes on and on and on….
Now he’s stalking me on my blog, which he found the address to on my mom’s Facebook before I removed the link. -_-
To boot, he’s calling my mom at her job to tell her about it. Nothing I write here is a secret nor is it exaggerated. I write only what I know to be true so he can report all he likes.
I remember the times my mom sided with him. I remember the times he told the police that I had behavioral issues and needed to be put in an institution for problem children and she backed him up so the police would believe him. I remember all the times I had to stay holed up in my room, because he was in the house on a rampage. Deep down, I know those experiences still hang over me and I am not fond of them. What can I say? I wasted several years of my life having to cohabit with this man. I watched my mom, sometimes because of bills and even after she divorced him, allow him back into our house over and over again to repeat the same types of behavior with little to no change. Eventually, he would always do the same shit over and over again, then blame us for it.
What was his mother’s response to my mom’s issues with her son? His mother told my mom that everything would be alright and that it would all work it out, knowing that her son is crazy and has some gotdamn issues. Hardly anyone helped us. The only thing I could do was become financially independent from my mom and leave the household or continue to hope that my mom would kick him out for good. So far, he isn’t living with us, though my mother continues to talk with him and let him in here sometimes.
I have survived and I will keep on surviving. He has no power and no control over me. Report this.
Ever more real,
Ms. Queenly
At the Hospital
As it turns out, my sister has white spots on her brain and had to go to in for a spinal tap. They say she needs someone to drive her home but since our car was stolen I at least have to make sure she gets home alive even though we’ll have to catch a bus and two trains to get there and back. She’s always had migraines and has been really I’ll off and on for the past few months.
Her appointment was actually on the 26th but they managed to work her in for today at a later time. Outside of the hospital on the way to get some food (since I got up at the crack of dawn to go with her) and we saw this woman on her phone crying and angry, saying how they “didn’t do nothing for her”, they let her die. There were two silent but clearly distraught guys out there with her. At the time, I didn’t think of it but now it reminds me of what happened to my brother at Southwest Regional, how they didn’t even ask if he had a history of diabetes before treating him (which he does, on both sides of his family). The question unasked killed him.
Hospital are such cold sad places sometimes. And don’t even get me started on the sorry state of healthcare in Georgia, makes me remember why I hate going to the doctor’s and Michael Moore films depress me sometimes.
queenly
Posted by Taviante Queens in Reflections, True Story, Writings to.... Tags: Black culture, Black feminism, cultural criticism, healthcare, healthcare system and failure, hospitals, Ms. Queenly, social commentary, writings to Black women