A Memory To Remind You....
My first memory that I can recall with my mother, itās summer, not hot, sunset, burnt orange Camaro with a fin, weāre on New York Street.
My sister, Melissa lived off New York Street in many different houses with many different people, chaos, her life was chaos. Well get to her role In my story another day.
Mom was there for a reason I canāt remember, probably to drop off money or maybe to check and see if she was alive, again, well get to her another day.
We were pulling out of the driveway onto this busy road, New York Street. SMACK.
I remeber my forehead hitting the back on my moms seat. It hurt. I was scared. My first accident.
There my mom went, I remeber seeing her long brown hair blow by the side window I could barely see out of. Then I heard it. The screaming. Itās something I grow used to with time but at 6, it scared me.
I remeber seeing the vains in her neck popping out. Her right balled fist punching this strangers window. She was rage. She was Fear. I remember her screaming āmy kids in the car you mother fucker!ā
The same kid you didnāt even check on before you were out in the middle of New York Street threatening someoneās life over a dented bumper.
Thats mom, hot headed, knee jerk reactor, angry, means well, a bear of a mother or so it was. The good Lord and the Bible slowed her down.
I felt anxiety for the first time that day.
My first memory with my father is a doozy and a little boozy, but are we shocked in any way. Beer is what makes that guy go.
It was Saturday, I only remeber because those were the only days heād see me, sometimes not even then.
It was a good day at his house. My step mom made breakfast and me and my step sister got to be outside all day. She was my best friend when I went over there. I remember wishing I had her life, that my dad would want to spend time with me like he did with her. It took me 29 years to realize he hurt his kids and my step moms too. Bitterness, well get there.
I remember my step mom had to work. She put on her apron and out the door she went. My dad grabbed a beer and then another and another.
Eminem was playing in the background. My step sister loves him. Then you hear the door, Little Jerryās here And dads about to get tanked, while on his court ordered visitation to see me.
1 led to 2, which led to 4, which led to 7, I can still hear the cans crushing on the floorboard.
Oh weāre driving now, well dad is, with no drivingās license since before I was born.
He had to drop me off, his night was just getting started and I was in the way. He didnāt care about his kids, he didnāt care about my step moms kids, he cared about himself. Always has, Always will.
He hit the gas, hard. I was too little to see over the dash, I remeber his voice cracking as he reved the engine And hollered āyeehawā as we flew over train tracks, airborn, Busch light cans flew from the backseat to the front seat when our tires touched the pavement again.
I didnāt want to upset him, I seen the fun he was having in his eyes, he looked happy, he never looked happy around me, but I was scared.
Anxiety, I felt it again.
The mind Is a funny thing, this organ that controls us. It controls us until the age we decide to control it.
I spent my whole life running from the memories and the feelings that came with those memories.
The same time I was running from them, I was slowing down and trying to find myself in the memories.
My first REAL fight, I was 14, she was short, chewed her gum like a horse eating hay and when she talked you weāre going to hear her I grew up in the city of Aurora, we all were like that, itās the only way to survive it. The tension had grown, she elbowed me in my rib, in a basketball game, that you make physical contact with people for a reason for. 14 year old me couldnāt handle it. 14 year old Leahna raged, I called her every name in the book, I threw the ball right past her head, barely missing. She scowled back at me. I stood there my chest tightening, my nails cutting into my palm so hard it bleed. Black.
Its the color I seen, when I came to I was on top of her, my fist hitting her right cheek so hard her left cheek bounced off the hard wood floor in the gym. I couldnāt think, I couldnt breathe. Blood was gushing from her nose.The coach ripped my jersey pulling me off of her.
Hello Mother, itās come to my attention the anger you portrayed to the world I have it to, weāre just alike me and you.
I could start a story about my first beer but to save some face and not get anyone in trouble weāll start with this one.
Im 15, Iām in Southern Illinois visiting a friend, summer break. My mom sent me off places like it was nothing, I was always at someone else house.
We got one of the boys to get us some booze āsteal itā we said. They did. While they were gone we raided my friends moms medicine cabinet and a coke can with a compartment for weed. At 15 we said, all in. My friends down there, man they were friends for life, we knew what home life was like, we knew what we were seeing, we knew the horrors of growing up like we did. We just wanted to be numb and for a bunch of kids that shouldnāt of know nothing about it, we sure knew a lot. The boys were back, no chasers, no cups. We were 15 we wanted red cups and for it to not burn going down are adolescent esophagus. We ran into town for a coke can from a vending machine on the side of the road, itās southern Illinois, thatās normal.
We crushed the can into this odd shaped with a hole in the top. My friend crunching up the weed like a giant picking a flower. We were really about to do this, everything weāre feeling we just didnāt want to feel anymore.
We smoked weed all the time but weād never drank a bottle of Hot Damn, a nug of dirt weed and a whole bunch of pills from her moms medicine cabinet.
Hello Father, itās come to my attention that your Addiction has now become mine, I to like the feeling of not feeling anything, we are so alike me and you.
The mind is a funny thing.
Im working on myself. Iām 614 days sober. I use breathing techniques to bring my rage to a simmer. I pay a therapist 200 dollars a month to properly deal with my life.
They are just memories now.
Memories Hurt. Memories remind me why Iām paying my therapist 200 dollars a month to help me cope.
Everyone wants to talk about how memories are ālife changingā and freeing.
Bullshit, they hurt. They suck to look at. To Remember is a human brain function I wish we didnāt have, like a gold fish. gold fish have no idea what day it is.
Itd be great to forget. But would it?
memories also remind us of our perseverance,our strength,our reasons.
