Quite a few years ago, I started writing the story of my life from the age of six, when my parents separated. It was hard going and emotional, and renewed my need for answers. As of this date I have only gotten as far as my mid-twenties. I have even more questions that need answers and the original answers I was seeking still have not been forthcoming. I have been in contact with both my parents, neither of which remember much of anything beyond the last ten years, or so they say. My mother has told so many lies over the years, she can barely remember what it is she’s lied about, so convinced by her own lies that even I had to point out the massive differences in the stories she has told me. Now I am convinced that no matter who I ask and how I ask, I will never get the answers I am looking for. I have a very good memory for the shit that’s been done to me and the people who did it. Unfortunately, they don’t.!
Perhaps when it’s all in print and they are faced with my truth of what they did to me, it might jog a memory or two. Perhaps. Probably not. Although the way I’m going, they’ll probably all be dead by the time I get to the point of printing. It’s taken nearly eight years to get this far. The only person my autobiography may hurt is my younger sister. She thinks her parents are the sun and the moon, while I have a very different recollection. All in all it’s been very therapeutic and I’ve managed to sort through a lot of ill feelings, and place a few more where they should have been all along. They say people are, at their very essence, good. That has not been my experience.
I wrote, back in my 2020 Personal Review that my sister was pregnant. Well, she had a little girl on June 23rd. A full week late but healthy and perfect after a 28 hour labour and a forceps delivery. Olivia Rose looks a lot like her mother and has the family nose.. hahaha.! That thing is never going to be gotten rid of. Even my youngest son’s children have it.! Genetics can be a bitch. 😀