See your scars as proof that you made it…not evidence that you almost didn’t.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

A Little Reminder

STOP. Before you continue, it is imperative that you read this or you will not understand a word I’m saying. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

The question is… “Who am I?” The answer is of course very simple and was there all along. I am…me. The problem wasn’t that I didn’t know who I was, it’s that I didn’t like who I was. There was this person that would stare back at me from the mirror and I would cringe. You’re ugly, you’re stupid, you’re nothing, I would tell the girl. She never fought back and the abuse continued. Then the girl would foolishly turn to those around her and expect them to fix her. Being “Their daughter, her friend, his girlfriend, his wife, his mom” was just an excuse to avoid being the only thing I could be which was and is, MYSELF. Since this post I have published two novels and am currently finishing the third in my series. Fate has been a very large part of these books and somewhere in between Emmy’s Heart and the first few chapters of Sarah’s Fate I managed to find Christy’s courage. The courage to look within myself for happiness because, honey, the only person that can make you happy…I mean truly happy, is you. And before you can love someone else…I mean truly love them, you have to learn to love yourself. And I have. Do I still have my days? Of course. I’m still a girl. But now when I look around me I see my parents, and my BFF, and my honey, and my son and I am happy.

For my 31st birthday I have decided to get a tattoo of the word believe over the scar on my wrist. Why believe? Because that’s all we have. The only thing that cannot be taken away from us is our ability and capacity to believe. Believe in fate, in God, in love, in unicorns, in vampires. Without that, without something to hold onto and believe in, what are we? What do we have but empty spaces inside of us longing to be filled? So now when I’m brushing my teeth or putting on my Twilight bracelet I won’t see a scar. I’ll see my husband’s face, and my son’s smile. I’ll hear Maria laughing and Courtney talking in her funny guy voice, (you really should hear that, it’s hilarious) and think the words ‘published author’ because at the end of the day, I believe in me.

I will never forget my first love or the pain I felt and I’m glad. Because without that, without everything I’ve been through, what the hell would I write about? ;)

Hi, I’m Christy. I’m a published author with a “gift for tense and revealing dialogue” (I didn’t write that, it’s from a review of Emmy’s Heart) and more stories to tell. I’m the mother of a great kid and the wife of a very hardworking man. I’m friends with some amazing girls (and guys) and am happy to say, have stopped abusing the girl in the mirror. It's nice to meet you.

Read More

Thursday, June 2, 2011

A Real Broken Heart

Being told by one's mother to stay the hell away from her, that you are a (insert inappropriate curse word here) idiot and that she doesn’t care what you do from here on out would be upsetting to most folks. And while I was upset on May 31st when I was told these things by mine, I am unfortunately used to it. All of my life I have been at the mercy of her verbal berating. From being told I was a slut and a bitch in high school to being told that I should drive my car off the road because my son would be better off with her for a mother (in front of my son who was seven at the time) more recently, she’s always been like that. Now if it was just a simple matter of her hating me, well, I might be able to come to terms with that and let it go…but no. There are always sporadic stints of wonderful thrown in to make the not so wonderful fade until of course it happens again and I’m left to wonder what the hell I’ve done wrong…again. This time it all came down to furniture. She was unhappy with the way that I chose to use the dresser she gave me (Cameron) when Cameron was born. Please note – we purchased him brand new furniture when we moved in our new home, furniture which he threw a fit for. The dresser she gave us was in the spare room and well, that was just unacceptable. There’s more, of course. I don’t appreciate anything she does for me. Frankly, other than saying thank you (which I do) sending flowers (which I’ve done), and dedicating my first FREAKING novel to her, I really don’t know how I’m supposed to show said appreciation.

We’re not speaking right now, I told my dad that I couldn’t deal with her until she was off her pain meds (which I think she is addicted to and are making her extra special crazy) and we are just making concessions until school is over as she has watched my son up until this point. Clearly, that’s over now though. There are two sides to every story, I’m not perfect and I’m sure I’ve done something unforgivable at some point but I can promise you this folks, when she is old and alone and she realizes that she threw me away because of furniture she will regret it. But it will be too late then. Way too late.

sad little girl Pictures, Images and Photos
Read More

© the Marvelous Misadventures of Mrs. t, AllRightsReserved.

Designed by ScreenWritersArena