I:

Memoir: In Where I Talk About Child Abuse, Depression, and Recovery

Part One: In which we learn about my parents and other relevant stuff.



My parents met some time in the 1980s when mullets were cool and break-dancing was the thing. When exactly they met, I don't really know, nor did I ever really care enough to find out. My mom, at that time, was a divorced mother of two. What i was told was that she had left her previous husband, the father of my sister, Solymar, and my brother, Nestor, because he had become abusive and was having an affair. I haven't done any actual fact-checking on this, so you don't have to take my word for it. My father was also divorced and a father to my brother, David. He had been a friend of my siblings' father and had met my mother through that relationship. Now, in her marriage, my mother had conceived another child. Unfortunately, she miscarried and was unable to carry a pregnancy to term. The doctors had told her that, no matter how hard she tried, she would not be able to have any more children. She was a bit disappointed at first, but accepted her fate. She was happy with the two children she already had and, after her divorce, wasn't really planning on having any more. So when my parents were well into their relationship and I showed up, it was a bit more than just a surprise.

I was born on June 2, 1986 in Caguas, Puerto Rico, two and a half months before my actual due date. Even though I had broken my mother's water with my foot and had to be delivered by emergency c-section, I was healthy. Tiny, but healthy. To be honest, I probably would have been tiny regardless. Currently at 5 feet tall, I'm no Amazon in any way. Solymar was ecstatic to have a new baby sister, my brothers, not so much. Nestor had really wanted a baby brother and had asked my mother if she could exchange me for one at the hospital. david was only three at the time and had more toddler-important things he cared more about. Regardless of how anyone in the family felt, everyone called me a miracle baby. Aunts and uncles debated with my mother on what she should name me. They had wanted Milagro, my mother's middle name, which means "miracle" in Spanish. In the wnd, my mother named me Yvonne Marie, after herself (Ivonne) and her mother (Maria.)

My parents never married, and I'm glad they never did. Not long after my birth, my mother realized that she and my father were incompatible. Though he had asked for her hand in marriage, she had refused. My dad was, is, very mellow. He's the lenient, laid-back type who likes to have fun. My mom, on the other hand, was, is, very rule-oriented, meticulous, stubborn. She had a household to run and she liked it done a certain way. She was tired of being taken advantage of, and though I'm sure my father never really felt he did, my mother had felt she had. It wasn't that they didn't care about each other, it was just that they kept butting heads so much. She didn't see my father as a responsible adult (my father later admitted that she was right.) Enough was enough. By the time I was about a year old, my mother kicked my father out.He came home one day to find all of his things out on the sidewalk.

...more later...

Summer

• I am doing good in school. So far only pre-reqs. Got a 97 in my EXP 105 and currently have an 82 in PSY 202. I start my first real class, ENG 121, on June 1.
• Thursday, J got laid off and I passed my driving exam. I am now licensed to drive.
• J is enjoying his "time off", so we are going to visit family in TX soon.
• My 24th birthday is Wednesday June 2. Five words: Free Pie Wednesdays, Village Inn
• I have an interview tomorrow at Gurney's Restaurant at 7pm.
• I'm getting teeth work done on Friday.
• I feel detached.

Menu Plan Monday

This is my first attempt at a menu plan. Granted, I'm not the one who actually cooks dinner in this house, but I think it's a good practice anyhow. It will help my husband (who is the one who does the cooking) know what we want during the week instead of all of us standing in front of the pantry wondering what we should have.

Monday: fish chowder (a concoction my husband came up with made of cream of celery, rice, spinach, and tilapia)

Tuesday: steak and potatoes

Wednesday: left over chowder

Thursday: Asian-style noodle soup (another concoction of my husband's)

Friday: chicken nuggets and fries

Saturday: left over soup

Sunday: left over buffet

Memoir

Memoirs: In where I share about Sexual Abuse, Depression, More Abuse and Recovery

That's the title, at least. I'm going to try and and write a memoir again. I tried back in my senior year of high school, but it was difficult trying to find my voice. I think I have it now. I think it will be a just a bit easier this time 'round.

As a disclaimer, I went through some unfortunate shit (if you haven't figured it out by the title). So when the writing starts to get a little rough, just drive through.

Cheers.