I just wrote this entry and I had to scroll up to write a disclaimer before anyone sees this and goes ahead…

I started this at 4:45 am. As of this exact minute, it is 4:54 pm. I wrote this entry over the duration of an entire day. If you read this 13,300-word entry, thank you, I love you, please leave me a comment. You can say nothing. You can say whatever. I just want to know I am NOT alone in this world. This is a very raw, emotional, REAL talk entry. It’s long. I know. I’m sorry. I spent the entire day trying to get out what I felt in words to get out of my soul. I hope now that it is written, I can release it. Thank you for your time. 

Warning: Extremely vulgar language ahead

It’s been a really long time since I’ve come to EA to blast someone. I have respected and gave kindness to everyone and anyone I’ve come across. I have expressed some deep, raw emotions from time to time. This blog is 12 years old as of next month. I have revamped it once and took all 300 entries I had and deleted the nasty hurtful things I was hiding from so many and while they were all true, and at that given moment the emotion I was feeling and wrote about was real, some of it was hurtful, mean, and unkind. I hid my blog from so many over the course of the years in fears that my true, real emotions and thoughts would get out. I would hurt the ones that *I* loved. Friends, family, none of them knew the truth behind what I really felt but I wrote it all. Eventually, I want to say I “grew up”. I decided I didn’t need some journal of all the mean, nasty things I thought about the others in my life being secretly written about them. For, yes, I blog, but it is because HOW I blog that makes me different from many others.

I complained one day that my blog is going to be 12 years old and I haven’t made a dime off it. I have read article after article about monetizing your blog. I know HOW but I needed Eternal Amour to be something else. So, I branched off. I wrote many more blogs on other pages and some subdomains and some bought domains. I tried the whole bit. Throwing every out of what I knew about monetizing blogs at said project A and project B. I failed each time.

I moved on and gave up. Every single time, I returned to EA and I wrote. After deleting all 300 entries of pure, raw, and sometimes hurtful emotion that I built up inside towards others because EA was my only sanctuary, I decided no more of the hurt and pain, the words never said, hiding behind a screen. I took the courage inside of me, deleted every single entry, and renewed my entire life.  I never went to Facebook and advertised “Hey! Look at me! Here’s my URL!” I also didn’t hide it either. I linked it to my Instagram account. I mentioned it many times on FB – not the URL – but the name and that I wrote. I didn’t advertise that my name is fully Nikkole. I didn’t attach my last name is not a single thing, therefore, someone hunting it down wouldn’t find it on Google. I didn’t hide it but I didn’t advertise it either.

I went on with my life. I started writing not about the hateful things I currently thought about so-and-so but just about MY life in general. EA once again became a sanctuary for me to pour out my heart and soul but in a more mature way. From that day forward, I barely wrote about anyone on my blog. Before I typed a single word about another person, other than when I was frustrated with Mike but even when I was frustrated with Mike, I asked myself, “How can you write about your feelings towards that person but in a KIND way?” I wasn’t scared of who would find it. I kept a lot of what I felt at bay, inside.

I want to use my Instant Pot as an example. There is a thing called a manual release. It is where, once your food has come to pressure, and finished cooking, you set the release valve for the pressure to just slightly open for a moment, close it, open it again just a little more, then close it. You do that over and over until the pot has released all of its steam and it is safe to open.

That was what EA turned into for me. It was my manual release. I would come here, and open that valve, just a little and release just a tiny bit of steam off my chest, feel better slightly, take a big deep breath, and say, “OK, off your chest now move on.”

Disclaimer. I am extremely upset. I had a day that opened my eyes yesterday. I’m writing about it today to get it off my chest and trying to do a full release of my valve. This entry is 700 words already and I haven’t even explained why I’m upset or what happened, my emotions, or where I’m going with this. So, please know, this is going to be an incredibly long entry. Continue if you want to, but I have some things that … if someone sees this and reads what I have to say and cannot accept it for what it is – my feelings, my hurt, my pain – and turn it around and play the victim. That is officially on them. Because you know what? I’m done. I’ll carry on now… 

I have matured. I have grown up in many ways. Mike would maybe even say I am the most mature out of my ENTIRE immediate family.

So with all of that being said, here it is… The truth. Here is the reason why I am sitting here at 5:52 am on a Sunday morning after waking up and shitting my brains out at 4:30 and then proceeding to puke up blood for another 20 minutes. Because, this, all the bull shit I went through yesterday, this is what it does to me. I slept MAYBE two hours. I’ll update you all with an exact time once my Gear Fit decides to notify me of my sleep log.

The truth.

Yesterday was my Mother’s “family” side of Christmas. This is our third annual year doing this. It has always been at my house because of my mother and stepfather her boyfriend, smoke over 2-3 packs of cigarettes in a closed house all day, every day, and we do not do it at her house because nobody like’s’ going over there. Her walls bleed tobacco. She has dumped ashtrays and just in general dirt all over her floors so much over the year, the kids are told they HAVE to keep their socks on while being at her house because their feet will be blacked with a layer of grime and filth just from walking across them. None of that matters. I just wanted to give you a small glimpse of my Mother.

This is important. I used to smoke. While I do NOT feel ANY superior to her because I was able to quit and she can’t. I am incredibly proud of myself for doing it. It was many years that I tried to battle the addiction of cigarettes and eventually I won. My mom was not proud, she would occasionally be like “Yea you quit smoking. I get it. Now talk about something else, Nikki.”

Because you see… My family cannot be proud of me. 

Now, Nikki, that’s not true. Your family is proud of everything you do. *nods* OK. Without listing EVERY reason why I believe that to be utter bullshit I will simply give you an example of my week.

Day 1: I decide, enough is enough. I have racked up over $13k in credit card debt and I am tired of living by credit cards and the means that I cannot afford to live. This past year, being able to buy WHATEVER I wanted was fun. I had a blast. I bought so much that we needed and so much that made us happy and so much that we could never afford or do. We went to DISNEY WORLD – finally. However, enough is enough. Today, I am rising above all the debt and I am doing something about. I am going debt free. 

… I talk to my mom every single day. This isn’t by HER choice. It is by mine. In fact, she has expressed multiple times, to multiple people that I annoy her. “When I walked in the house from work, the phone rang, and I was like ‘God dammit, Nikki, let me get in the mother fucking door. Jesus Christ.” So, that wasn’t me calling. That was her assuming it was me because according to her, I do nothing BUT call her ALL DAY LONG. While it is true, I am known to talk on her phone on our mutual days off 3-6 times in one day. I love her. She sometimes listens to what I have to say. I like sharing with her. And honestly, aside from my sister, Mike, and my boys, she is the only “friend” I got.

I grew up (and I’m going all over the place here) not knowing the truth. A few years ago, I mentioned to my dad while discussing his and Mom’s relationship, that I was told all the time, “When we got a divorce, you were four, the judge asked you who you wanted to live with. You were a daddy’s girl. You chose your dad.” Once again, I uttered those words in my father’s presence and he snapped like a twig. “do you want to know the truth. The mother fucking truth. That is the bull shit your mother spewed on you for years. You were fucking four years old. No, no fucking judge said, ‘Now Nik, who would you like to live with, your mom or your dad?’ NO FUCKING JUDGE IN THEIR RIGHT FUCKING MIND WOULD ASK A MOTHER FUCKING FOUR YEAR OLD THIS! No! NO! You know what happened?? DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED!? You were four, and one day I came home from work and you came up to me and said, “Daddy, I saw Mommy kissing Mike” After that moment in time, she despised you. She wanted NOTHING to do with you. I didn’t know whether or not to go to work or not because I did not know if she was going to take care of you. We went to court for our divorce – YOU WERE NOT THERE. Your aunt Mary was with you and Krystal. No judge asked if you wanted to live with mommy or daddy. No. Your mother went into that courtroom and said, ‘I DO NOT WANT HER YOU FUCKING CAN HAVE HER! IM TAKING KRYSTAL.’ And you know what, you didn’t see her for years, YEARS after that. It took a long time, not until Linda and I was dating before she came back into your life. And just like Nickolas does with Matt, you put her on a pedestal. She was a goddess to you. She could do no wrong. Why? Because ‘Oh Nikki’s here, I got child support today, let’s go walk two miles to the store, and buy you WHATEVER YOU WANT.’ As she bought my love, I accepted my mom once again because even though she was gone all those years, I never knew why. I never knew it was because she did NOT want me. She wanted NOTHING to do with me. I was tainted to her. She hated her four-year-old daughter.” 

Wow. Dad told me all of that. I left that day hurt. Upset. Confused. Is that really what happened? I’d believe my dad over my pathological liar of a mom any day. But no…

Me and my parents never seen eye-to-eye. My dad and I were close. We did everything together.  He got remarried. I didn’t like her. I rebelled because she took away every ounce of freedom I had. She changed him, he was no longer my Daddy, but she was threatened by any form of relationship we had together. I no longer had my dad and daughter relationship that we built so strong over the course of my childhood. He worked rotating shifts and for years and 4,5,6 years old I took care of myself. I got myself up for school. I walked blocks away to go to school every day. I did my cooking and cleaning all by myself. She came in the picture and I wasn’t allowed to ANYTHING for myself ever again.

I am going to quote a tv-show I watch because is a perfect time. “I think everyone sees’s their childhood in different colored glasses. Different perspectives.” 

My dad read this. He would deny everything I just wrote. Aside from the part of what he broke to me about my mother not wanting me.

So I’m 2000 words in, and once again haven’t gotten to my point. I apologize. I’m really upset and trying to just hash it out.

Let’s recap

  • had a blog for 12 years. Deleted 300 entries that may have hurt the people I loved in case they ever read them because I always wrote when I was very happy or very upset and I said some things I didn’t necessarily mean in the heat of the moment
  • Grew up. Matured. Restarted my blog, left out a lot of nitty gritty this is truly how I feel kinda stuff. Never fully released my valve to let go of the pressure in my pot
  • Quit smoking. Mom not proud of me.
  • Family cannot be proud of me.
  • Decided, I am going to become debt free.
  • I call my mom, every single day. I didn’t explain why above, but it is because I feel sorry for her. She has no one in her life that gives a rat ass about her. NONE. Everyone kinda just deals with her, puts up with her, tolerates her. She’s bitter and hates her own life.
  • Mom says during their divorce, I got to choose who I lived with and I choose my Daddy and because of that, she said, “Fine! I’m taking Krystal.”
  • Dad informed me, I caught Mom cheating on Dad with his best friend at four years old. They got a divorce. I was nowhere near the courtroom. Mom said, “You can have her! I don’t want her! I only want Krystal. I don’t want nothing to do with Nik.”
  • Dad took me. Raised me. We became one in the same. I loved my Dad. He was my best friend. However he worked 12 hours, rotating shifts, and I saw him one week out of the month. In return, at five years old, I taught myself how to care for myself by cooking, cleaning, getting up, ready, and walking to and from school every single day.
  • Dad married my stepmom. Stepmom was young. She was very… immature. She saw my relationship with my father as a threat. She shut our relationship quicker than I can even mention. I was no longer allowed to have freedom or independence. I had to eat what she made and finish my plate before I left the table. If I didn’t like it, I’d starve. Dad sided with her. I was flicked aside. Now he didn’t want me.

Ok, up to speed.

Now, the teenage years.

I’ll summarize this the best I could.

I was unwanted. Dad and his new wife were having a baby. A brand new life together. They had a new house. They had a new baby. Nikki is old news. She’s apart of something tainted. She isn’t included in this new magical family that we are building. Ok. Cool.

I am a teenager. I get teenage angst. I have bipolar 1 disorder. I don’t know this until months of therapy happen because “She’s just so gosh darn unruly and out of control”. They diagnosed me with “manic depression” and I was over it. I was over the bull shit. The games that my stepmom was playing with “oh no, you cannot talk to your dad without me being in the room with. What did you say to him? You tell me right now! You are not allowed to SPEAK to him without my presence.”

Cue the first time, I moved in with my mother. Remind you… at this point, I still have NO CLUE she didn’t want me after the divorce.

I move in. Only child. Now, I have a sister who I have only ever had to deal with for 1-2 days a week, once a month, IF that. I now have a bedroom, toys, stuff, all in which I had to share with my little sister every single day. Hmm, no this isn’t going to work out.

I went to a new school. I started middle school in a Milw Public District. Which meant new life, new friends, a new beginning.

I found two friends. We are not going to get into THAT story today. Let’s just say, they were terrible influences on me. I smoke, I drank, I smoked weed. Because my new found friends showed me that they were the only children in their families and they were spoiled rotten and got their way for everything, I decided, why not me too.

I went home with an attitude of “give me what I want”. Half the time I was high or drunk. Remind you, I am literally 11 years old at this point. I start sleeping over at their houses about 5 out of 7 nights a week.

Mom goes, “NOPE! Not fucking dealing with her.”

“Nik, get the fuck out of my house. Your attitude is shit. You are acting terrible. You are NEVER around. I’m done with it. Figure out a place to live, because you’re not living here.”

I stayed with my friends a couple extra weeks, bouncing between the two until their parents started questioning it and shutting it down. Where was I to go? I was now homeless… at 11 years old.

I eventually had to grovel to my dad. Beg for his forgiveness. Wait. I’m wrong on that. Oh no. I had to beg for my step mom’s forgiveness. I had to say I was sorry for how I acted and how I treated them and that I would never treat her with disrespect ever again. Never once, did I get an apology for being told I couldn’t be apart of the family anymore because Dad has moved on. Eventually, they let me move back in. I fought tooth and nail to stay in the same school. I absolutely refused to switch schools and get brand new friends again. It was the only compromise the did for me. Looking back, it probably wasn’t the best choice for me but looking back, it has taught me valuable lessons.

So, everything up to this point became routine. I would sleep over at my friends’ houses for 5 days out of the week because my parents were so unbearable to handle because neither of them wanted me. I was now 12. I was still smoking weed and cigarettes and drinking booze. I had two friends who were pretty, always had boyfriends. I was the chunky one and the fifth wheel to their dates.

Dad argued. Linda argued. “Get the fuck out of my house.” Oh… uhm… ok?

“Mom. Dad just kicked me out. I have nowhere to go. I’m so sorry for everything I did to you. You mean the world to me. I love you so much. Will you please let me back in?” Honestly, what choice did I have?

Age 13. 8th grade. (Nick’s age)

Quick reminder. Diagnosed manic depressive. Refused therapy because I cheated the system and would make the therapist believe bullshit stories so I didn’t have to go anymore. Never put on medication at this point.

Two best friends decide… you know what? We’ve been friends together since kindergarten. What do we need Nikki for? Yea. Fuck Nikki. Ok, let’s pick a fight. Nikki… you’re a piece of shit. You’re never going to have a boyfriend. You just mooch off everyone you’re around. You’re not a good friend. We’re better off without you.

The only two people I had. Just teamed up and shitted with me.

Before this moment, I cut. No one knew. I did it across the tops of my thighs so no one would see. I actually took a blade from a pencil sharpener and unscrewed it and used that to cut across my thighs. Never anything deep, just enough to bleed.

We are now at 3300 words. My apologies. I am WAY off topic here… not at all what I intended to write about coming here. But so far, this feels good. Carrying on.

After this picked this particular fight with me, I found the blade. I went for my wrists. I cut deeper than I ever did. The blood didn’t stop. Painkillers. A whole bottle should do. Down the hatch. I was thirteen.

I wrapped up myself and cried a while. I decided I needed someone to talk to. No one was around. I found a random friend online and was like “hey. I’m having a rough day. Can I come hang out with you?” I left Dad a note. I and so-and-so got into a fight. Everything is fine. I’m at so-and-so’s house, here’s her number. I’ll be home tomorrow.”

Roughly five hours later, I was being put in the back of a cop car and hauled off to Milw County Mental Health Dept at 10 pm. I was in my pajamas. I was fine at this point. We were headed to bed. She had me laughing and I forgot about the whole thing. I was taken to this hospital. I spent the next five hours being questioned the same questions over and over again. I was forced to show my wrists again and again. No one knew about the pills but clearly, that didn’t matter. I was taken upstairs. I was exhausted. Finally, I can go to sleep. But first, not without a shower. “I don’t need a shower.” I was forced to take a shower and put on their clothing but first not without coming out of the shower in a towel and being told to drop the towel and stand there for 20 minutes while they examined my naked body for every scratch, cut, bruise, or mark on me. I was thirteen.

I spent the next two days in that hospital. I was pissed. I was beyond pissed. I was livid. Dad and Linda didn’t come visit me for a whole day. They brought me things I would like. I wouldn’t speak to them. My mom visited me. Not her either. I got out of there and lived with dad until the bull shit started once again.

Again at this point, no medication, no therapy.

I think we’re on #4. As in, this is the fourth time I’ve moved. I am now thirteen. I just tried to commit suicide.

High school started. A new group of friends. New crowds to fit in to.

Things weren’t any better at home. Same ol’ bull shit.

Now, I’m going to skip the nitty gritty of high school. I was a bad egg. I smoked, I drank. I did drugs – a lot of drugs. I skipped school all the time. I was NEVER EVER home. I slept over at friends houses EVERY SINGLE CHANCE I got. Still didn’t fix anything at home by never being there because, reminder, we’re up to #4.

From the time I was thirteen until the day I met Matt, got into a relationship with him, and ultimately moved in with him by lying to my father and telling him I was moving back in with Mom. But later found out, he followed me that day and KNEW I moved in with him, but never said anything or did anything about it. — I was fourteen going on fifteen.

So from thirteen until shortly after I turned fifteen years old and moved in with my 19-year-old boyfriend. I had bounced back and forth between dad and mom’s house over 9 more times. At the point of moving into Matt’s house, everything was already boxed up and ready to move at any given time anyway so that was the easy part.

My father followed our car. We watched me take my boxes from the car into my 19-year-old boyfriend’s house at the age of fifteen.

My mom. Lied to him. Told him, “Yea. She’s living with me now.”

Both of them. Given up on me. She has a boyfriend. She’s out of our hair. She’s no longer our problem!

Matt changed. I am now living with my boyfriend at his mom’s house. Matt became abusive. I had to wear certain clothes that he bought for me. I had to dress his way. I had to look his way. I had to do my make up his way. His mom got mad at us living there and demanded rent. He had to go out and get a job. He started working shortly after discovering this game. He demanded, that while he was at work, I lock myself in our bedroom, where we slept on the floor, and level up his character. When I didn’t do enough levels for the day I was screamed at because I wasn’t enough and I didn’t do enough.

He was sweet at times. Typically when he wanted something. He wanted to be married. He especially wanted a baby. I wasn’t on birth control. I didn’t have parents to take me to go get it. He broke the condoms. I ended up pregnant. I was now sixteen and pregnant. With an abusive boyfriend, living in an 8x10ft bedroom. There was no food. We weren’t allowed to eat what his mom had in the house. I had to wait until he was home for us to go somewhere and get food. I was deathly ill. I told my mom about the pregnancy. She took me to my appointments. Matt was so happy to find out I was pregnant. Then I got sick. Then I became an annoyance. Why are you not having the perfect glowing pregnancy. Why aren’t you always happy. I threw up 20-30 times a day with no medications or nothing to help me. I quickly lost weight. Matt took me out to eat one time a day and only let me order a salad because I was losing so much weight he wanted to be sure that weight stayed off. He never once went to an appointment. Actually, untrue. He went to one. My ultrasound. I’ll never forget it. My mom was with us. I was laying on the table on my side. I had my left hand behind my back holding his hand. My mom stood next to him. He squeezed my hand and whispered in my ear, “If it’s a girl, I will leave you right here at this very moment. You will never see me again. You better pray it’s a boy.”

My god, if you’re still with me, bless your heart. I am SO far off track. Ok, let me see if I can veer myself in the right direction.

Long story short, 17, with a baby, boyfriend who didn’t want the baby anymore, now expect me to take care of baby, clean house spotless, have a meal ready for him, but will not provide money to get groceries for when I can find someone to take me shopping because, once again, he does NOT want me eating anything to gain any weight. No parents to go to. Nowhere to go. No one to turn to.

At some point, after Nick was born, I started going to my Dad’s pretty often because they were really interested in the new baby since the couldn’t have any more kids. One thing leads to another and I was once again groveling to him to let me and the baby move back in with him.

Christmas Day of 2003, that happened after Matt picked up his best friend and went driving around the entire day instead of spending time with me and his son. He threw everything I owned from our apartment down the two flights of stairs and in to the basement, all the baby stuff was ruined, and me and a barrage of people had to go fish every piece of clothing and miscellaneous piece of paper from the apartment to the basement and pack everything up and get it out of there.

I once again lived with my dad. This lasted a few months. Old habits die hard. I bounced back to my Mom’s. She wanted rent money because I had a job. She decided the rent I was paying her wasn’t enough. She asked for my entire check. I moved back in with Dad. I moved back in with Mom. I moved back in with Dad. I met Mike. We dated. I was kicked out of Dad’s house because I was spending too much time outside of the house. And because I didn’t appreciate my 8 pm curfew at 18 years old. Or the fact that they wouldn’t trust me with a key, so when they were gone at work I had to find somewhere for me and my son to be.

Now… I’m going to let you all in on a little secret.

I said I started smoking, drinking, and doing drugs at as young as 11. I was having sex at 13. I was living with my 19 year-old-boyfriend by 15. I was abused, forced to become pregnant, and then abandoned by 17.

By 18. I had a job. I had a respectable boyfriend. A beautiful baby boy. Matt was temporarily out of our lives.

Yet. Here I am. 18 years old. Never a day in my life have I lied, stole, broke, or did anything more than raise my voice to my parents. And I was being treated like a common criminal.  I bounced back and forth between my parents, who were now not only kicking out their daughter to the streets but their grandson to nowhere to live forcing me to grovel and bend down on my knees worshiping the other parent to simply have a place to go.

It was June 2005. Mike and I had been dating 6 months. The day I turned 18, I put my application in for a WHEDA HUD house. Low-income housing. Slum. I was approved. I finally had my own place. However, it wasn’t ready. They needed a few weeks to get the apartment ready for me and until all my paperwork went through and everything was approved. Mike’s mom helped me out and we figured out a daycare center that was on the way to Walgreen’s. We figured out how I was going to have to get on the bus, in all degree temperatures, with the baby in the stroller. Take the bus down the road about a half a mile, get off, take the baby to daycare, wait for another bus, take it another mile or so, go to work and get there approx. two hours later. I would work a four-five hour shift, then take another two hours to get home. I had it all figured out. It just needed to wait a few more weeks. I was living with my mom at the time. She wanted money. She expected me to hand over the rest of my check. A good chunk of my check went to the babysitter. She thought I was spending too much time with Mike.

She got loud with me. I got loud with her. She went to go slap me across the face. I said I was done. I called up Mike. I packed up the pack and play and some belongings. She’s screaming at me to “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HER HOUSE”. I had a few weeks… only a few weeks… then I’d be free.

This time I had nowhere to go. Dad was over it. Mom just threw me and the baby out. I had Mike. All I had was Mike. We went to his house. Now I had Lynn. We set up their pop-up camper in the front yard, and we stayed in it for a few weeks until my apartment was ready. Things had quieted down. I was able to move all my stuff out. I had my very own apartment. I was finally out of their trap. I lost count of how many times I bounced back and forth and listened to the words “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE I DON’T WANT YOU LIVING HERE ANYMORE!” It was over.

A few years passed… my parents and I talked occasionally. Mostly for them to see their grandson.

It was never a big effort. Christmas was a holiday in which we’d meet for. We just go.

The years passed. They were never really there. It was in and out, ya know?

Around the birth of Mikhail, I decided, OK, they have a new grandchild. I am going to make a new effort to build a relationship with my parents.

I called weekly. We went to their houses. We hung out. I called them all the time. I CALLED THEM! We built a relationship.

Time went by, things were OK. For a little while, I was going to my dad’s house quite a bit, we were talking all the time. Things were good.

I called my mom every single day. We talked every single day.

I built a relationship because I wanted the relationship. I’m a loyal person. When I love or care about someone, I am full-heartedly into it.


I was just on the phone with my sister for over 2.5 hours trying to get over this.

It didn’t work. I’m still upset. I’m still angry. I’m still hurt.

I am going to summarize a little bit of what happened yesterday because to be quite frank, I’m exhausted. I slept two hours last night. I’m on my second 30 oz cup of coffee. I have cried about 9 times so far today. Let’s see if we can get this entry up to 7000 words because it’s currently at 5600.

*big breath* Ok, Nik, tell it ONE LAST TIME. Then… be done.

Once it’s on ‘paper’, it’s out of your head. Go read your sign. You need it right now. Today is a brand new day. Aspire for more. Take chances. Be amazing. Pursue your passion, believe, have fun, be brave, never give up, make a difference, work hard, embrace kindness, live your dream, love well, stay strong. *big breath* Here we go… This is what 5600 has to lead up to…

Yesterday. Oh, yesterday. It will be a day, I will not forget anytime soon. We all woke up, rather early, and got on with our day. Mike and I spent some time together, we drank our coffee, and the boys got up. We informed Nick he would be cleaning while we were taking Mikhail to basketball. Mikhail went to basketball. I went and talked to Mikhail’s friend’s mom who I’d like to think I’m pretty OK friends with. We talked the whole practice and we got our boys and left.

We got home. We went over to Mike’s mom’s next door. We talked a little bit. I was really hyper. I was wound up and very feisty. Maybe a sign of a manic episode arriving soon? I don’t know. We get into the topic of how there is no discipline in the system nowadays for kids. I said, “I cannot discipline my kid without some form of repercussion”. Lynn argued. I argued back. Mike left the house. We continued to argue. I finally said, “Ok! When Mikhail has a tantrum and I’m doing what I think is best which is letting him RIDE IT OUT because grounding makes it worse, being firm makes it worse, and screaming makes it worse. So, I let him ride it out and what happens? He kicks, screams, and cries. And WHAT do YOU DO?! You come barging into my house going, ‘WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON!?’ and I tell you, Mikhail’s throwing a fit. And you go upstairs and intervene and tell him to knock it off or whatever and then think you solve the problem and walk out. ALL THAT DOES IS MAKE HIM LOSE RESPECT FOR HIS MOTHER WHO NOW APPARENTLY CANNOT HANDLE THE SITUATION BECAUSE GRANDMA HAD TO STEP IN. Guess what, your tactic doesn’t work either because he continues to carry on but you feel like you did something about it so you ignore it. You stepped in and all that does is undermind ME.” She says nothing. Mikhail walks in the door. We both turn our attention to Mikhail. I slip out the door. Mike is cleaning the stairs. I explain to him that I feel exhilarated. I finally step up and FINALLY said something to her. I finally told her how I feel about something important that has been bothering me for a long time. I was proud of myself. I finally stood up for myself. And for once, I didn’t feel sorry or bad for saying it. No anxiety afterward. Cool. Progress.

Mom comes over. We get all the food put away. She pulls out fresh donuts. We sit down and I tell her, “OK! I can finally tell you what happened!” I explain. She interrupts me and goes, “I need coffee. Make me coffee.” Uh, ok? I go make her a cup of coffee and continue my story. *big breath* This is what began my new found shitty day. I finish my story. “Mom! I felt so liberated! It was amazing! I finally got that off my chest and told her how I feel!” She wipes her eyes, and without skipping a single beat goes, “Great! Since we’re being so OPEN AND HONEST, I do NOT want you to say a GOD DAMN WORD about your planner. Not a word. No budget talk. Nothing. NOTHING ABOUT YOUR BUDGET. NOTHING! NOT A FUCKING WORD! I do NOT WANT TO FUCKING HEAR ABOUT IT. Unless Sarah asks you or mentions it, DONT FUCKING TALK ABOUT IT. You just go ON AND ON about your damn budget. Jesus fucking Christ, I fucking get it. JUST SHUT UP!”

Me: Uh, what? Ok. Ouch. WTF? *hurt* I whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m just so proud of myself for working on it so hard. I was going to show you what it looked like today and everything. It’s just… I’m so proud of myself.”

“Well, I don’t care. SHOW me but do NOT fucking talk about.”

*dumbfounded* I am like, aching it hurts so bad. What the fuck was that all about? I am a sensitive soul. You cannot come at me like that. Especially someone who knows me so well, and has spent hours of their time talking to me every single day, and understands me. WTF?!

She instantaneously moves on to a new subject. “Is my coffee done yet?!”

“Uh, yea. It’s done. Sugar and creamer are above the coffee maker. There is vanilla, caramel, and maple pecan creamer in the fridge, otherwise, there’s milk.” She goes and makes her cup of coffee. Again, I don’t have words. I have nothing more I want to talk to her about. I’m hurt and I want to say nothing else to her. She sits down, finishes her donut, and continues carrying on about work. She switches topics and starts talking about her diabetes medication. She’s drinking a cup of coffee with probably the equivalent of 8 tbsp of sugar, 3 tbsp of creamer, and 5 tbsp of milk, eating a Boston cream donut, talking about diabetes medication. Hmm, ok.

“Don’t you think we should start cooking the food?”

“No. No one is going to be here for another two hours.” Lord help me.

We move into the living room. Nick is upstairs. Mikhail and Mike are at the storage locker where his car is parked. Forgetting this, I scream for Mikhail, thinking he’s downstairs.

“Mikhail’s not here. He’s with Mike, remember?”

“Oh. Shit. That’s right. Duh. It’s been three years since we’ve moved into this house and I still lose them because it’s so big.” (FYI, I meant NOTHING by this. I simply said it because it was the damn truth.)

“Yea must have been nice to fall into this. You got lucky. You have Mike and had Lynn give you this big huge house. I would be in heaven in this big house. Mike would have the basement, I would have an entire room for my crafts, and we would have a guest bedroom.”

“Oh, yea. I love the house. It’s great.”

I walked into the kitchen. Mike and Mikhail come home. Mike goes downstairs. Mikhail wanders around the house. Mom says some shit like, “Boys! Come sit down.” She hands them their cards. I made sure she didn’t forget my boys this year. They were going to be included. They were going to get just as much as her other grandchildren because EVERY year she says something about how “they have a Lynn” so they don’t need much from her. They open their cards and she makes a big ol’ fuss about it. “Did you see what’s there?! That’s $50 gift card! SEE! How much cash is there? Count it! You’re not counting it right. Here, let me count it for you. That’s $20, $40, $45, $50. $50!” The boys said thank you! “Yea.”

*insert mindless chatter here*

I go, “Mikhail, give Nana her gift!”

“OH! MY GIFT!” Mikhail hands her a box. She’s like, “What could it be?!” She peels the wrapping paper carefully and undoes it to leave it all intact. She sees the box. Her face goes from YEA to oh =/.

Mikhail said, “What is it?!”

“I know what it is.”

“Well, what is it?”

“It’s a stock pot. But I bought a stock pot. And it was MUCH smaller than this.”

“Oh! I know. You actually bought your stock pot about two weeks after I bought this one. I was so mad because you were like, ‘Oh! I bought a stock pot today!’ and I was like, ‘Shit!’ because I had already gotten you this one but I figure hey, now you can have two and make double the stuff!”

“It’s big.”

“Yea. I really don’t know how to gauge what 16 qt means. I bought it online so when it said 16 qt I was like, sure? Then when it got here I was like, ‘is that going to be big enough?’ and was kinda worried.”

“This is HUGE!”… “Seriously this is fucking huge. What the hell am I going to do with this?”

“Mom. You can always put less into a bigger pot. You cannot put more into a smaller one.”

“Uh, ok. This is really big. I don’t know what I’m going to do with this.” She places it back in the box and puts it on the floor.

I am now on my computer. Because fuck her.

I am not one to take something so harsh so easily. You want to take something that I’m incredibly passionate about, and more importantly, something that is benefitting me to become a better person, and tell me I am not allowed to speak or mention it because you’re above it. I can’t get over that so easily. I can eventually forgive, but I will never forget.

*cue Krystal and my niece walking in the door* Krystal walks in. She has a black peacoat on. It’s opened. She is wearing a black top that is tighter around the chest and flared out as it goes down to the waist. It’s black. Her coat is black. Very nice looking clothing and flattering. Now, I did not actually look at what Krystal was wearing until later. It wasn’t until this moment when I told myself, make a point to look at what she’s wearing, because of the following exchange.

Mom: “OMG! When’s the baby due?!” Knowing damn well, Krystal is not pregnant.

Krystal is a descendant of my family tree. We are a bunch of very ruthless, loudmouth, language of a well-educated sailor, and when we’re pissed, we are NOT quiet. Without a second rebound rate, and full volume and full bitch mode, Krystal screams, “WHEN IS THE BABY DUE? WHEN IS THE MOTHER FUCKING BABY DUE? REALLY? WHAT THE FUCK? YOU DON’T JUST FUCKING ASK THAT TO SOMEONE? LOOK AT YOU? WHEN THE FUCK IS YOUR BABY DUE? FUCKING CHRIST! WHAT THE FUCK YOU DON’T FUCKING DO THAT!?”

Without even pausing another second Mom goes, “Get Milli some tank tops she needs some support. She’s just hanging all around over there.”

Again, without skipping another beat, and still very pissed off from what she said prior. Krystal responds with, “SUPPORT? FUCK YOU! YOU NEED SUPPORT LOOK AT YOU! MAYBE YOU CAN GET SOMETHING THAT NOT ONLY SUPPORTS BUT LIFTS TOO!”

Now, they are both arguing back and forth. Literally, screaming at each other. Krystal has been here not even 60 seconds and they are full attack mode. I yell, “WHAT THE HELL YOU GUYS! KNOCK IT OFF!” Since I was still on the computer, I text Mike on Facebook and go, “do you hear this? they’re screaming at each other! Ok, now they’re not speaking to one another.” He posted a ROFL gif and said nothing else.

Things quiet down. I go, OK, I guess I’ll get started on the deviled eggs. “I’m going to peel the potatoes.” Cool. I get the eggs out. Grab the egg platter. I grab a couple paper plates, a knife, the eggs, a ziplock bag and begin slicing the eggs in half. Each half of yolk, I threw in the ziplock bag. Krystal comes up and starts antagonizing me.

“Why are you doing that? What’s with the bag? Do you always make it with the bag? You cannot actually mix it in the bag you know. What do you put in it? Don’t put too much mayo lean JEANNIE does. I hate too much mayo. What spices do you put in it? Do you put Worcestershire sauce in it? What about mustard? You gotta spice it up? You clearly don’t know what you’re doing? OMG Nikki you’re going to mess them up. They’re going to be terrible………………..”

*big breath* “They’ll be fine. I made them like this last year and you ate all of them. Remember, you sat there eating one by one by one and didn’t stop shoving your face. Don’t worry what I’m doing, they will be fine.” I get the eggs sliced. I grab the mayo and mustard.

“Don’t put too much mustard. STOP! That’s just right. Now the mayo, just like a little scoop. A tiny scoop. What spice you putting in there. Ugh. No. Not too much of that.”

*big breath* You’ll get through this Nik. Put the amount of everything SHE said, close the bag, and start mashing. “You cannot actually get it all mixed like that. I don’t know what you think you’re doing but that’s NOT going to work.”

“Fucking Christ, DO YOU WANT TO DO THIS!?”

“No. I just want to watch you do it.”

Checks the bag. This is far too dry. Did she cook these eggs for 16 hours? Ugh, if she would have just fucking let me do these in the Instant Pot these would have been perfect. *opens the bag, adds another dollop of mayo in* “THAT IS TOO MUCH MAYO! IT’S RUINED.”

“Krystal, it’s dry.”

“You fucking ruined it.”

*mixes the bag again* Still way too fucking dry. Jesus fucking Christ.

“That was too much mayo.”

“It’s still dry!”

“It’s fine!”

FINE! *cuts a corner of the bag and attempts to squeeze a bit into the egg white* It doesn’t come out. I force it. It’s like playdoh. Krystal eats it. “Ugh. YUCK!”

My mom finally yells, “JUST FUCKING PUT IT A STUPID FUCKING BOWL AND ADD SOME DAMN MAYO TO IT AND FUCKING BE DONE WITH IT!”

I said fine. I emptied the bag into a bowl. I take three HUGE spoonfuls of mayo into the bowl and I mix it hard. Krystal comes over and is like, “Jeez. I’ll catch everything you spit out of that bowl.”

We discuss how neither Mom nor I thought about drinks. Krystal offers to get some soda. She leaves to the gas station up the block.

“If these fucking deviled eggs suck I do not want to hear ONE MOTHER FUCKING WORD ABOUT THEM BEING TERRIBLE!”

Mom hands over the potatoes. “I don’t know what you plan on doing with these, but they need to be done in a little bit. Everyone will be here.”

“They’re going in the instant pot. They’ll be done in approximately 25 minutes. That will be enough time to get the ham and the rolls heated up and everything else we have to finish finished.”

“I don’t know why you wouldn’t just let me bring instant. So much easier. Ugh. Instant Pot. Whatever. I bet these won’t even be good.”

*breathe* What the living fucking hell is her problem today?

Krystal returns with soda, throws it in the freezer, and hands me my specially requested bottle of Mountain Dew. I thanked her and she popped a deviled egg into her mouth and said “they’re OK” and bugged Mom.

My Mom’s boyfriend arrived. He said nothing to anyone. He was let in, walked into the kitchen, looked at the food, went and sat down on the couch, grabbed his phone out and said absolutely nothing to anyone. About five minutes later, his daughter Sarah and her family walked in. They all got situated and we had most of the food going where it needed to be going.

“Turn your oven on 250°. I need to get this ham in. I need to get these rolls going. Give me a cookie sheet.” We had two rotisserie chickens in my Ninja Kitchen System, ham in the oven, and mashed potatoes counting down in the Instant Pot. We had a bunch of appetizer stuff on the table. I yell down the stairs, “MIKE EVERYONE IS HERE!” *to myself* please save me. I go and take a few breathers. I gather Sarah and Josh’s coats. I hang them up on the stairs. Krystal’s boyfriend and son arrive. I talk to CJ and we’re talking about how old Charlie is. He’s an itty bitty tiny little baby, and I had NO CLUE he was over two years old. I explained to him that Mikhail was baby sized for approximately a few weeks and then grew to be this big ginormous kid. I didn’t get to enjoy the baby size for very long. Mike came upstairs and sat on the stairs, up against the wall so no one could really see or converse with him. But he was present and there for me. My mom screams for me from the kitchen about something to do with the ham isn’t’ cooking fast enough and I need to turn up the oven because it is NOT cooking fast enough because it’s a shitty stove. I go turn up the temp. I go back into the living room and talk a little bit. I am literally at this point in survival mode. I am simply just trying to survive this Christmas event. I yell into the kitchen, “MOM! How much longer on the Instant Pot?”

“Eight!”

“What? Eight? Seriously?” I knew that wasn’t right because I came to pressure a while ago. I went in there and saw that it was at 1 minute and then beeped saying it was no longer cooking but just keeping warm. I go, “Oh! It’s done already. See, they’re already done. Easy peasy. Ham should be ready in a few minutes. By the time we mash the potatoes, everything else will be done.”

“Yea. Whatever. We’ll see.”

I go to get everything ready for the mashed potatoes. She comes up to me and goes, “I had one of those, it was a big stainless steel one. It had a lid.”

“Uhm. Ok?”

“Yea, mine was great!”

I turn the valve to release the pressure and steam. She jumps two feet back and yelps. “WHAT THE FUCK!”

She had one? Right. I explain to her, because of all the water, the steam will take approximately five to seven minutes to release. Just let it go. Don’t touch it. I was going to go sit down for a few minutes.

I sat down by Mike and faced him so I had my back to everyone else. I mouthed to him, “what the fuck is going on?! Please, save me!” I again took a huge deep breath and went back into the kitchen. She’s running around like a chicken without her head. Is it perfect? Is this done? Whatever. I’ll let her do her thing. Everyone else was sitting in the living room conversing and hanging out. I take the lid off the potatoes. I drain them and put them back in the pot. I get the masher out. I put it next to the pot. I get the milk out. “Mom! Can you please come mash your potatoes. I don’t know how you like them.”

“I need an egg, butter, garlic, and milk!”

“An egg?”

“An egg. Yes!” I go grab her all the ingredients and go, here ya go. I go to pull the ham out of the oven. It is the absolute FLIMSIEST pan I have ever encountered.

“Where the hell did you get this pan?”

“I paid $6 for that pan.”

“Six dollars?! I can’t even lift it with one hand without the whole thing buckling in half!”

“Ok, it was $3.” I burn myself in the process of getting her 9×13″ $3 pan full of ham and pineapple out of the oven. I grab the rolls. She’s struggling to mash the potatoes.

“I NEED A WHISK!”

“A whisk? For what?”

“The potatoes!”

“What the hell do you need a whisk for? Just stir and mash with the potato masher.”

“You don’t know how to make potatoes, do you? I need a fucking whisk.” *hands her a whisk* Ok? *cue Krystal coming in and saying something other* “Krystal, you don’t know how to fucking cook either!” This irritated Krystal.

We go in the living room. Sarah and Krystal start talking. I’m in and out of the kitchen. I walk into the living room just as Sarah and Krystal mention Google Calendars and reminders. Krystal goes, “I use Google Calendars for my reminders, but I don’t have a planner like Nikki.” I say nothing. I don’t respond. I simply walked back into the kitchen.

I turn the corner and my mom goes, “OMG I AM SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU! YOU DIDNT SAY ANYTHING!”

“What are you talking about?”

“She said, planner. YOU KEPT YOUR MOUTH SHUT AND DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING! I’M SO PROUD OF YOU! WAY TO GO!”

“Uhm, yea because you told me not to.” And I walked into the living room again leaving her by herself.

Now, pause here. We’re at 8700 words. This entry is going to be SO much longer than I expected but honestly, I am starting to feel a little better because as I type these conversations as they were done last night. I am feeling relief as each one is typed out. Each one I type, I feel anger, instead of pain. Because I’m realizing there was something going on with my mom last night. I don’t know what it is. Nor, do I excuse her piss poor behavior for whatever excuse she had. I am now angry. I am no longer sad. I am no longer hurt. I’m just pissed. Because fuck her. I’ll continue telling you about the rest of my day because we’re not done here.  I fully do not expect a single person to read this ENTIRE thing. I am just letting it all out. Also, my memory serves me as best as it does. This conversation I’m typing out is NOT verbatim. Obviously, there was a different variation to how things were said. Yes, there was this much cursing because that’s my family and that’s what we do. Continuing on…

Now, at this point, I have eaten about three pinches of smoked salmon, three shrimp, and a mini eclair. I was good. I was done. I had no desire to eat ANY of the food that was placed in front of me.

We called everyone to eat. I went and sat down by Mike. I told him I had so much to talk about with him later tonight. I also said I am ready for this to be over. I asked him if he was going to eat because he typically doesn’t. He asked me to make a plate for him and to just put what he likes on it. I went in, grabbed a little of this and that, brought it to him and sat down with him while I watched everyone eat. I don’t know if my mom ever sat down and ate anything either. Everyone talked for a while and hung out.

A little while after eating, my mom’s boyfriend left. I got up and got a tiny bowl, with one ladle full of broccoli cheese soup. I sat down and ate it and just tried to calm myself. We’re almost done, Nik. Almost done. Sarah and Josh got ready to leave and headed out not too long after. I was already in the kitchen starting to put stuff away and clean everything up. Faster it’s all done, faster they leave.

I do most of the dishes, and excuse myself to take a break because I needed one. I went and sat down with CJ and Krystal and we got into a topic of conversation regarding her relationship. It got debatable. I explained to her why her choices weren’t always right. I explained to him why his choices weren’t always right. I gave them solutions to make it better and I said some stuff that I was thinking was helping them. CJ wanted to go home and play Xbox while Krystal, who he promised would get away time, would then take the baby to her aunt’s house so he could play Xbox. I explained to CJ you can play Xbox with a running around a toddler. We did it. It’s doable. You give him a controller and you go, “YEA BUDDY! GOOD JOB!” and let him “play” and bam! he’s entertained. I explained that Krystal needs time away from the kids. Mom and Krystal went outside for a cigarette. I told CJ, “Look. I know you work 70-80 hours a week. We know what that’s like. Mike did it for years. It’s exhausting. You work so hard all day long, you want to come home to a meal, and a bed, and just to go to sleep. And yes, I totally understand that you’re sleeping all the time because you work so hard. But you gotta compromise with her and let her get out too. I know she gets out often, and she needs to accept that sometimes getting out for an hour means that’s enough. I told him I talked to her about this all the time. And that we totally got it.”

Krystal and Mom came back inside and we told Krystal straight out that we literally just talked about her. Mike and I then explained some things to do. We told Krystal she needs to grow up just as much as CJ needs to grow up. She needs to realize CJ has made some GREAT accomplishments and has gone from being a bachelor to a family man, working hard, for his family, and making money, for his family. He is doing everything FOR HER.

We discussed this for a good 30 minutes and then they headed out. She took what food she wanted and I finished up cleaning. Mike went downstairs and Mom goes, “Coffee.”

I go and make her a cup of coffee. I do not change how I make it typically. I NEVER make a normal or normal xl size cup. I literally use travel mug or travel mug xl each and every time. C’mon, it’s ME. So, since I don’t have a million huge YETI brand cups to serve coffee in, I have never made a smaller size cup in a normal mug. I had no idea how many grounds to add. I made her a cup. We finished cleaning up. I made myself a mug. We sat down in the living room and hung out. Mike came upstairs, made himself a mug of coffee, and went back down.

We were very reserved with our conversation. We talked a little about Josh and Sarah and how they seemed to be. We talked a little about Krystal and CJ. I went and sat down on my couch and really sank in and just let the day drain away.

It was like 7 pm. My mom had been there since 12:30. Everything was clean and put away. Her bags were packed and ready to go.

It’s the end of the night. We’re almost done. It has been an exhausting day. The amount of strength it has taken me to get this far is astonishing.

We talked about some random stuff, but there was tension in the air. She nearly spat out her coffee and in disgust exclaimed how bitter it was and just disgusting it was. She placed her bitter coffee on her box from her stockpot. It tipped over. It was in a travel mug, which had a lid on it. It slowly poured out of the cup, all over my floor. Instead of reaching down and grabbing it, she adjusted herself to her seat. I yelled “FUCKING GRAB THAT! IT’S POURING OUT EVERYWHERE!”

“I’m trying to fucking reach it. Jesus! It’s just fucking carpeting.”

*insert me wanting to SO badly say, “YEA I FUCKING HAVE NICE THINGS YOU FUCKING BITCH! MY CARPET DOESN’T TURN YOUR FEET BLACK WITH A THICK LAYER OF SOOT WHEN YOU WALK BAREFOOT!” I bit my tongue* I told her to just leave it and I’d take care of it later knowing she would be gone soon enough. She sat back on the couch. She wasn’t quite ready to go.

I explained to her about how when all of us were next door yesterday, we all discussed how when Nikki gets loud everyone is supposed to just raise their hand and slowly lower it in a gesture to tell me to quiet down. “Now we just need to figure out a way to tell you to stop calling.”

“Yea, we discussed that too. You see, I am always on the phone. So, when Mike and I, or Lynn and I are sitting around watching TV, it is because I am always on the phone and because of my line of work, that I feel as though I always have to be in a conversation. When I’m at work, you cannot have dead air. So, I feel like I have to keep the conversation going even though we are all peacefully just sitting there. That’s something I need to work on.”

“Uhm. That’s bull shit. Because you call me three thousand times a day and sometimes you’ll call and you’ll answer and go “hold on” and do something for ten fucking minutes and that’s ten minutes of dead air and I’m like HELLO NIKKI FUCKING WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU CALLING ME?! No. You don’t need conversation. YOU NEED ATTENTION. You ALWAYS NEED ATTENTION. ATTENTION ATTENTION ATTENTION. When you were a kid it was IM BORED IM BORED IM BORED TALK TO ME TALK TO ME (in the whiniest voice) YOU JUST CRAVE ATTENTION. YOU HAVE TO BE THE CENTER OF THE FUCKING ATTENTION ALWAYS TALKING ABOUT YOU ALWAYS TALKING ABOUT YOUR SHIT OR LIFE.”

*checks watch* “It’s 7:40. I am tired. It’s been great.”

“Yea, I should get going.”

“Ok.” She gets up and gets her shoes and puts them on. She then stands up again and walks over to the door. She grabs her two bags. Four less than what she came with.

“Oh! You forgot your stockpot!”

“Oh…… Yea…… my stockpot….. Just hand it to me.” *big breaths*

“Here. Let me get the door for you.” *opens the door*

“Thanks so much, Mom.”

She steps out. We both reach for the other door in a hurry and I smack her arm with it.

She steps outside. The cool air felt amazing right at this second. She ended the night with, “Oh. If you call me tomorrow, I’m going to be extremely busy. I have a lot of cleaning to get done. BUSY! So if I don’t answer, it’s because I’m busy cleaning.”

*close the door*

I sit down. I take a sip of my coffee. It’s over. But is it? Not for me, it’s not. I take three huge deep breaths back to back. Mikhail goes, “MOM! Are you up there?!” He comes upstairs and grabs the $50 cash that Nana had just given him a couple hours early and told me he was ready to spend it. I knew exactly what he wants to buy.

I go downstairs. I’m shaking. Every ounce of my being is doing what it needs to just get through what I need to do. I sit down at the computer and spend the thirty minutes working on the boys’ computer, purchasing in-game money for Mikhail’s game. I finally hit a point I can no longer take it. Tears slowly seep from my eyes. I grab my phone. I text Krystal.

“Ok, so I’m crying not that it matters but I wanted to say sorry for blasting you and CJ for your nonsense. It was rude of me and I’m sorry if I had overstepped. Mom wound me up so tight and I held it in so much and now its like fuck. I fucking hated today. and I feel awful for how I talked to you. So hopefully you can accept my apology. I think I’m going to take a break from trying so hard with family for a while because clearly, i’m just attention seeking and an annoyance.”

She IMMEDIATELY called me. She was like, “I’m on my way to Aunt Mary’s, I read you are crying. What’s up?”

I had about five minutes to explain what took me 11,000 words to say here.

She was like “ohhhh, Nikki!” She explained that if she would have known that she wouldn’t have been so hard on me about the deviled eggs. She had no idea the tension was so high by the time she arrived. She thought whatever tension that was there was because of her walking in and them two blowing up at each other. She explained she arrived at our aunt’s house and had to let me go.

I’m now just crying. Tears are just running down my cheeks. I cannot control them. They are happening regardless of what I think, say, or do. Ok, time to talk to the next person I need to talk to.

*big breath*

I walk over to Mike and I start from the beginning. He had no idea why I kept coming up to him saying please help me or save me or whatever. I did my best to say what I had to say. Explaining every detail of the day I just had and he had no clue. I would say something and break down. I would sob so hard and regain composure, take a deep breath, and try again. I talked for a solid thirty minutes. I cried so hard.

I finally said, “and she said all I do is seek attention.” *deep breath* “That’s me. A fucking annoyance. Attention seeking annoyance.” He goes “STOP!”

He let me sob a little more to get it out. He looked at me after listening to my thirty minutes of crying my eyes out explaining word for word all the hurt and pain and despair and just heartache and betrayal.

He waits until I’m ready. “Listen. Just… listen.” He raises his hand and points his finger. He goes, “this” and circles his finger in the direction of my head, “this is NEVER happening again. She is your mom. She will always be your mom. I stayed home, this entire day. I didn’t go ANYWHERE. As much as I cannot stand your mom, I was here for you. She came into MY house. We let her into OUR house. You weren’t even going to do this. You decided to. FOR HER. We welcomed her into OUR house to do HER Christmas FOR HER, and THIS is the outcome?! NO! This will NEVER fucking happen again. You, your sister, your mom, all your shit all this shit always fucking happens. This is fucking done. I will NEVER allow her in my fucking house EVER again because this, what she did to you SHE WILL NEVER DO THIS TO YOU AGAIN! The Christmas’s, the cookouts. FUCKING DONE! Sarah and Krystal… they’re welcome. If you want your sisters to come over for a cookout. I have no problem with that. But that woman will NEVER fucking enter our house EVER AGAIN! I will NOT have her do this to you!”

I cried. I nodded. I agreed.

“She will never allow you to be happy. She does NOT want you to do better than her. You are doing EVERYTHING better than her. To her, that’s unacceptable. You can’t have happiness if she can’t.”

“Your dad. When he tries. He’s not bad. He hasn’t tried in a really long time.”

“Your fucking parents! I know they are your parents. That is your mom. That is your dad. THEY DONT FUCKING CARE ABOUT YOU GUYS! And I’m sorry. You have tried so hard to make things right by your parents. I think it’s time to step back and just let it be from now on.”

He said a whole bunch of stuff that totally made sense even though it REALLY fucking hurt to hear.

I continued to bawl and then try to stop myself, regain my composure, take a deep breath, but every time I allowed a new thought in my head I just started up again. Stupid fucking hormones.

He got up. He said some shit about his family. As he walked towards me, he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and goes, “My mom… she annoys the hell out of you. I know.”

As I sobbed again, I got out, “I love her!”

He goes, “Yea. I know.” He held me and I sobbed and shook my entire body as it came out finally in his arms where I can just release and feel safe. Again, I told myself I gotta be strong and tried to stop myself. I don’t know how many times at this point I have had told myself to try to be strong and stop myself.

I backed away from him and go… “Do you remember when I started dating you and I told you that your family was perfect?” He made a smirk like, really, Nikki? I go, “Hear me out. Compared to my shit show of a family… your fucking family is PERFECT! Mom annoys the HELL out of me. I annoy the HELL out of her. I fucking love her. She loves me too.” I started crying again. He pulled me in and gave me another hug.

Slowly, he calmed me down.

I wasn’t ready to accept it. I wasn’t over it yet. Haha. I’m at exactly 11859 words. CLEARLY, I am not over it.

Now that I’ve written this… I feel slightly better. I got out what I had to say. I drained all the negative from my heart out to my fingers, through the keyboard, and out into the screen.

So, I went to bed around 10 pm. I relived my entire childhood up until this moment in my head for over two hours as Mike slept next to me. I decided that I was done. I was done trying. I was done being the perfect daughter. I was done putting forth the effort. I was done being there. I was done. I went downstairs, grabbed my phone. I wrote a Facebook entry basically saying I was taking a break from FB. If you wanna get a hold of me, find me. I left it at that. I turned all my post to be “Only Me” can see this. From here on out, if I feel the urge to write my feelings out to FB, I can, but no one will see it.

I woke up at 4:30 am after falling asleep sometime around 2 am. I had to go to the bathroom because my stomach was incredibly upset. I knew I was going to be in the bathroom a while so I took my phone. I also knew as soon as I opened my eyes a flood of a emotion hit me and at that point, even though I didn’t know what time it was, there was no way I was going back to bed. I watched IG stories and was in the bathroom about twenty minutes. When I emerged, Mike stood in the bedroom with the light on. He was getting dressed. He goes, are you ok? I told him I didn’t know. I explained to him that we were going to be up together because there was no way I was going back to sleep.

We went downstairs and made our coffee. Before I even took a drink, as he headed downstairs, I went to the bathroom and puked. I am about 90% sure I puked up something that was solid, thick, and bloody. I wasn’t positive so I just let it go. It was 4:45 am. I had the day ahead of me. I started this blog post. I went from talking about EA to being open, to hiding my true feelings for the sake of the blog and not wanting to be found, to saying you know what, I am laying it all out there. I want to someday make money off a blog site. It will NOT be EA.

It is now 4:27 pm. I have been working on this blog post since 4:45 am. Almost twelve straight hours with very limited distractions in between. I have not eaten an ounce of food. I have drunk 60 ounces of coffee during and throughout the entire day.

I am now going to have to scroll all the way to the top of this entry and write, seriously, if you read this, and go through this shit show of a day I had you are a true friend.

I’m drained. I am emotionally empty.

I talked to Krystal. She knew only what I told her in 5 minutes last night. She didn’t know everything. I explained to her, in 2.5 hours everything. We compared feelings and histories of our childhood growing up.

We both… are attention seeking ‘annoyances’. Why? Because NEITHER of us got ANY attention, love, affection, or the same when growing up. Now that we’re adults, it’s all we want.

In the 12 hours, it has taken me to write this. I have gone from extremely hurt to extremely pissed off.

While speaking to Krystal, and hearing, in a little more detail without the sobbing and crying, he repeated himself from the kitchen, “NEVER FUCKING AGAIN!”

I cannot promise I will never speak to my mom again. She is my mom. I don’t know what provoked the reaction.

Lynn…

Mike…

Krystal…

Sarah…

Everyone has told me… “She’s just jealous of you”.

I and Krystal will never know what it’s like to have a proud mother.

Misery loves company.

I am trying to better my life. OH! That’s totally something Mike said while I was bawling my eyes out and I think it’s important for me to summarize what I heard from him saying it…

“You do everything in your power to better yourself. You try REALLY hard for yourself. You do everything and try really hard for Nickolas. You do everything and try really hard for Mikhail. You do everything for your family. You work really hard at bettering yourself. She is jealous of that because she cant does anything but be unhappy and miserable.”

I’m going to stand back… I am going to do what is best for us. No one else matters anymore. Mike matters. Nick matters. Mikhail matters. I matter.

If spending 10 hours working on a budget to better finance my money is what makes me happy, WHICH IT DOES, I am going to do it. It’s gonna suck… not having someone to share my interests with every single day. I don’t have a best friend. I don’t have any friends. I don’t have anyone to share my happiness with. My sadness with. I have Mike. I share everything with him. He is a man. He can only listen to so much. He doesn’t talk back. He is a very quiet man. He doesn’t give a lot of input. He doesn’t care if I saved $0.25 at the grocery store. He will pat me on the forehead in the most loving, “Ok, babe.” way and his way of going. Shhhhhhh… He loves me, and loves talking to me and sharing interests and hearing about stuff that I’m really interested in. He’s not going to listen to me carry on for 20 minutes about something I’m really passionate about.

I gotta accept … no one will.

If anyone actually read this, I commend you. Thank you. I’m sorry that this was so long and so drawn out but I really felt the need to get every single detail that was swimming around in my head that happened.

I probably overreacted. I got upset. I blew things out of proportion. I was very emotional. That is 100% who I am.

With that being said, my mother will never enter my house and be given an opportunity to treat me like that again. I respect myself too much to EVER allow myself to be brought THAT low EVER again. Twenty-four hours later. I am pretty close to the ground. I’m almost buried. That was the lowest, I have ever, in my 31 years of existence have felt as a daughter and as I mentioned, I have been through a LOT with my parents.

I’m going to work on letting go. I’m not ready to forgive and I am the type to forgive. However, I will NEVER ever forget. THIS will NEVER happen again.

Ok. I think I’m done. It’s gonna take some time to rebuild from this one. Acceptance when it comes to family members is hard. It’s even harder when it’s the two people who are supposed to love and care about you more than anyone in the entire world. I couldn’t imagine treating one of my boys with the ways my parents treated me. I don’t know how I’ve survived this far. I don’t know how I ended up so compassionate and loving. I don’t know how I ended up so put together and understanding. I don’t know how I ended up with such strength to, at all times, do my absolute very best in every situation that is presented to me. Because NONE of those things were taught to me… Like Mike says, “I don’t know how YOU came out of THAT”.

Ok, I need to scroll to the top and put a disclaimer. Thanks for reading this if you actually read this. Leave a comment below letting me know I have someone out there for me. It would mean the world to let me know I’m not so alone. Thank you.

written on January 14, 2018 at 5:57 pm with 3 Comments
Filed under: Ohana, Parenting