#slef help

I had signed up for a rather dream like job of mine back at a shelter I worked at as a volunteer!

Years of different animals, working there in the past, working in a vet for three/four summers when I was younger, loving and understanding animals, being someone who hasn't completely given up yet and given people a chance again (kindness and what their due)

I didn't get it..

Instead of sulking (tho it hurts like a mother fucker..) after letting friends and family know on FB since I posted about my interview and how excited I was for such a chance-

Some of their comments kinda off on the fact they missed out on ME working for them, I hope my comment on FB is seen by who got the job cause really and truly, condos ~💕 you earned it, deserve it, and obviously the Elders know you'll do better for the place~💕💕💕

Don't let something like a dream job tarnish your view on the rest of your time here-

Maybe like me, they need to help their family and know more then me about the job at hand?

I've been filling out since and before job applications in the hopes

Thankfully my lower back may be given a second chance with some physical therapy come this June

Those Doctors from before who helped get my breast reduction surgery!

So even IF I loose my lower end to scoliosis, at LEAST because of THEM, I was given such a chance that I could apply for jobs, stop and actually FEEL GOOD from time to time about myself, and damnit, trust in people again-

Something in the Air Tonight

Throughout my childhood, things would weave in and out of different levels of sanity. Too many times I would remember coming home and either things were in chaos, or my parents were normal and asking me how my day had gone after a long day of school. When things were “normal”, I was always unsettled. Even as a kid, the Psycho Circus that I had become accustomed to, felt “normal” to me. If my parents weren’t arguing or fighting, something always felt off. It’s such a bizarre concept to look back on, but it’s the thing I knew so when it wasn’t present, it felt like something was missing.  

My parents always argued. It’s not speaking negatively of them, it’s just the truth. They constantly argued and if they weren’t arguing, they would just start fighting. It was heavy as a kid to watch because my mother was the one that always started the physical confrontations with my father. If something didn’t go her way, or she didn’t get what she wanted, she became aggressive. Too many times I would watch my mother smack my dad and belittle him. I will always say this, my father always tried to avoid confrontations, but at times, they could be too much to avoid. Something had to come to a breaking point. Sadly, this breaking point had more server consequences than just an awkward dinner with the family.  

The day was simple and short for any ordinary fourth-grade student in a rural school setting. A good lunch and a long talk with a couple of friends about various secrets in the “Zelda: Ocarina of Time” on the playground. The ordinary autumn Friday school day was near completion. Towards the end of this simple school day, I was deemed “student of the week” in my class and got to choose a prize out of the gift box Mrs. Collins had prepared for us. Out of the gift box I chose was a window paint set that I planned to create a masterpiece with later in the evening with my family. As I got on the school bus and waited for the arrival at the trailer park, I was a particularly proud trailer park kid. Here I was coming home as “student of the week.” I hoped that once I got home and my parents saw my achievement; we could all paint on the windows and then head out to Wal*Mart where I could try and bribe my parents into buying me a pack of Pokémon cards.  

When I arrived home my sister was gearing up to go stay with my grandparents at their home. I wasn’t even bothered by the fact that I wasn’t going down there to stay this weekend because I was “student of the week.” On this day I was better than my sister and I wanted a celebration with or without her. As I came home to my parents with the exciting news, I could already tell that mom wasn’t “super mom” today. I showed her my paint set and she quickly gave me a shallow promise of painting with me later in the evening. I could tell that she had business to attend to. I would later find out that this business consisted of her wanting some more pain pills from my father. As I sat in the back junk room alone with my toys, I began looking for pictures to paint. I eventually discovered a picture advertising the latest “Metroid” game. In a WWE magazine. I thought this was perfect and something my mother would love to paint with me since she loved playing Super Metroid on our Super Nintendo. I thought my father could help us out as well since he was actually a very talented drawer.  

As my sister finished packing up her things for the weekend and my grandfather came and whisked my sister away to the magical land of Bandanna without a proper goodbye to me; the trailer got awful quiet without my sister’s music blaring in the background. As I sat in the back room still planning the painting with my mother, my father arrived, and my excitement kicked back in. This man would have to be proud of me tonight I thought to myself. I was “student of the week” for goodness' sake. I pictured him automatically giving me a hug and congratulating me on a job well done once he found out the news. Did that happen? No. Instead, he went straight into his bedroom and sat quietly. My mother charged into his room, and I knew that everything would be okay once she got her pills and would become the mom who enjoyed hanging out with her son. I thought we could all just start painting this Metroid masterpiece I had envisioned in my mind. That didn’t exactly go as planned though.  

As my mother raced into my father’s room; the two started yelling at each other like they were two professional wrestlers getting ready to square off for the World Heavyweight Championship. I heard so many cuss words come between the two. Words that I hadn’t even heard of at this point in my life. I was honestly scared of these two people who were my parents and not the professional wrestlers they were acting like as the argument was getting pretty heated at this point. I didn’t have my sister to talk to during this situation, so I ran into the back room where I had planned my events for the evening once getting home and I began to paint the Metroid picture on my own. I thought maybe if I painted this picture, both of my parents would be so damn proud of me, they would forget about the arguing and the pills altogether. As I finished the painting on the old dirty cracked trailer window, I waited for it to dry. Once it was done drying, I ran back to my parent’s bedroom and what I saw has never left my mind.  

I don’t know exactly how the events happened because they just seemed to happen so fast and it’s a lot for a nine-year-old kid to take in. As I arrived in my parent’s bedroom, I was treated to the sight of my mother taking down one of my dad’s shotguns from his gun rack and pointing it at his chest. I’ll never forget hearing the words “go ahead Terri and blow me to hell.” I screamed as loud as I could and begged my mother to put the gun away. She didn’t seem to care I was witnessing this act; she was on a mission to get her pills. I didn’t want super-mom anymore, I didn’t want Pokémon cards, and I didn’t want to paint anymore. I just wanted all of this to end. I wanted away. I wanted my escape. I wanted my parents to see what they were doing to me.  

The showdown continued for a few more minutes with my mother splashing coffee on my dad from his prized Pizza Hut mug (yes those were a thing) and later hitting him with it, to just straight up punches to his face. My mother was fired up. I’m not sure what her agenda was now at this point since my father had refused to give her the pain pills several times. I’m not sure why my dad put up with it as long as he did or even why two adults would let their child witness these acts. I had seen my mom hit my dad before and even try to cut him with a butcher knife. Me and my sister witnessed these events almost weekly. The violence between my father and my mother was almost normal. I’m not sure why this time was so different to me. Maybe it was because I didn’t have my sister there with me. Maybe because it was the first time, I had seen a gun up close. Maybe it’s because these people didn’t seem like my parents anymore. I don’t remember how long this moment lasted. All I know is it all ended with my dad shoving my mom out of the way and heading for the door. My mother chased after him and I sat in the hallway of the trailer so lifeless. I was frozen in time after witnessing everything my parents had just done. I didn’t know more was to come.  

My mother decided that instead of pain pills she would really like a milkshake from Burger King. Somehow it went from my mother pulling a gun on my father to all of us in the vehicle heading towards Burger King in the span of about thirty minutes. The night seemed so dark as I sat in the backseat of the car. I couldn’t see a moon or any stars in the sky. I just saw black. As my mother got her prized milkshake from Burger King, she begged my father to take her to Western Sizzlin. This wasn’t for a nice family meal to celebrate me being “student of the week” but to just stop by and say “hello” to my grandmother who was working there. My father was hesitant but eventually gave in to the request. As we arrived at the restaurant, I was ordered to stay in the car as my mother hurried into the restaurant. Me and my father sat in some awkward silence that I could even pick up at my young age. Looking back now I guess he was either too embarrassed to try and explain to his nine-year-old son what happened, or he had too much pride and didn’t deem it necessary to apologize for something that my mother had started in his eyes. I never doubt either of my parents loved me. They did try and shelter me from some of their evil, however, my father knew that I knew everything that had happened this night.  

While me and my father continued to sit in the car not speaking and me occasionally taking some sips from my mother’s precious Burger King milkshake, my mother and what seemed like half the waiters at Western Sizzlin were coming outside and headed towards the vehicle. In my naïve young mind, I thought they might be coming to congratulate me on being “student of the week”, however, my father knew better than this and as I heard an “oh, shit” muttered under his breath I assumed something not so good was about to happen. My grandmother quickly came up to my window and started cussing at my father. This was the last thing I wanted was for all of this to continue. My mother had gone into the restaurant and accused my father of hitting her in the face. I never saw the faithful blow to the cheek that my mother had told everyone about, but then again, I was a kid so who would listen. Later, my father would tell me that my mother faked a hit to the face and made a bruise out of makeup under her eye.  

The shouting match between my father and grandmother continued for some time. With all of the waitresses cheering on my grandmother she did the unthinkable and slapped my father. My father instantly started the vehicle up and started backing out with my grandmother still in the window cursing at him. My father did start rolling up the window and before he could get the window all the way up, my grandmother gave him one final smack in the back of the head before my father could drive off. The car ride home was short but very quiet. My father I don’t think spoke a word the whole ride home. It was late in the night before we got home. I do remember my father letting me in his bedroom to watch Cartoon Network. I’ll never forget him telling me not to be afraid if he wasn’t here in the morning, he would be back home soon. I didn’t know what he meant at the time but as I laid in the bed and watched an episode of “Courage the Cowardly Dog” I drifted off. I remember waking up later in the night and Dragon Ball Z was on the TV and there were strangers in the living room. I could hear my father’s voice, so I didn’t think too much of the situation. I would later find out; this was the cops and a social worker coming to the home to have my father removed from the home.