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Thursday, March 4, 2010

I go through each day with wonderment that I have made it another day.
I know that each one of us in this world have a place and calling to which we are suppose to fulfill. Just don't know what mine is or were I am suppose to be.

There is things that I am suppose to get done and I just can't bring myself to do them.

Happiness is something I am afraid of. You ask WHY? Because every time I start feeling happy my world comes crashing down.

It's kind of like when things are going so well that the one thing I can always count on is disappointment.
The last time this happen was a few weeks ago.
Life was good, money was coming in, plans to start the Bar B Que was in progress. I was feeling happy, starting to feel optimistic, good feelings for my partner again and hopeful for the future. Then one night it took just a few hours and it all came a part. The money is tight now, the feelings of happiness have changed to tears of frustration and loneliness. I am so tiered of crying. Each day I try and find something positive. Job hunt, help someone in need, play a game on the Internet. That makes me happy.

Talked with my oldest son today it was just OK. I don't have the connection with him that I have with my two other children. Lord knows I try. I love him so much.

I just do not know how many more times I can have life kick me in the stomach. It started Dec. 3, 1955 being born to a man and woman who did not want any more children and definitely not another girl. I was the seventh daughter born to my mother and father.

I never felt wanted by my parents.

My dad threw me out of the house when I was fourteen years old because my mother made my eighteen year old sister leave. She would not work or go to school so mom said she had to go out on her own.
I was going to school and working when I could get a baby sitting job.

I went and stayed with my brother and his wife. She was a hard to live with. I found a full time baby sitting job for the summer. We moved to a house that had two bedrooms. I started school in the fall and baby sat on the week-ends. A brother-in-law who use to drink would show up occasionally. One night when I was sleeping he tried to rape me. I got away.
I don't remember what my brother did to him but the next week my sister-in-law and I redid the attic so I could sleep with out fear. We painted the floor and stapled burlap on the rafters. Put a mattress on the floor and my clothes in boxes. I felt safe for a little while. I was fourteen.

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