My time

I ignored it completely, acted like I had seen a ghost or daydreamed it. I was in denial, but my mother would bring me back to reality when we went to visit her cousins for the weekend. The second night we stayed we got to drinking games and ended with Truth or Dare. Besides me being in my bra and undies running through a neighborhood and getting lock out of the house, we had a great time. That was until I had enough liquid courage to confront my mother of my suspicions all these years with her and Rod. 

The first question I asked was “have you ever cheated on dad?”. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t looked confused, or even flinch at the question. She simply said “not before he cheated on me first”.  That response told me I wouldn’t get the truth out in front of her family and decided to ignore the liquid courage the rest of the night. 

The next day, while driving back home my mother decides to ask me why I had asked if she cheated on my dad. I decided then that I would not say much and just let her talk. I shrugged my shoulders and kept quiet. She started talking and I don’t remember much after she said “yes, your dad cheated on my before we were married. After I was pregnant with Nick, (second to oldest brother), your dad didn’t want anything to do with me. I went to Rod just to talk and things happened. It happened just once after Nick was born”.

WAIT, BACK UP, DID SHE JUST SAY AFTER NICK WAS BORN?!?! My I mind was racing with fear, anger, confusion, lost, and my mother must have seen it on my face. She then says “I’m not sure if your dad is your biological father”. Yes, this bitch just told me the dad I grew up with, calling him dad every day since I was born, might not be my dad. Oh, oh no, you don’t mean….

As my mind is racing with so many questions and confusion, I didn’t realize she was telling me that Rod, my current boss, a man I‘ve know my entire life as a “family friend”, his kids I babysat for years, could actually be my biological father?! I’m sure theres more to what she said but I didn’t hear, I was too busy being freaked the fuck out and having to face my dad and Rod while having this information known. I told my mom I needed time to process everything, that I didn’t want dad or Rod knowing I know until I was ready to deal with it. I needed time, it needed to process fully before even talking about it to anyone. 

Processing it or ignoring/avoiding it was more my style then. I was afraid to hurt my dads feelings or even Rods feelings. Was I mad at dad for cheating first and to have “pushed my mother to cheat”, how she explained it. Or was I mad at Rod for coming in between my parents. So, many questions, concerns, worries, that I couldn’t process it.

I had just moved into my own apartment, broke off my engagement, worked with Rod daily, and didn’t want any part of the drama my mother put on me. So, I dealt with it the way I felt best, talked to my dad and told him everything. Everything I could think of what my mom had told me. I even told him about seeing Rods truck at her apartment the prior weekend. I vomit all this drama shit onto my dad, the sweet, quiet, caring father of mine. He sat there quiet while I got everything out in the open, he just listened. 

Once I started crying and asking him what the hell happened, he simply said “I told your mother not to tell you”. I don’t remember much else said after that, but I’ll never forget the look on his face. He was determined to make his marriage work no matter what it took. I tried telling him that she’s cheated more that just the once, that there’s more to it and this is just the surface of her schemes. Few months later my mom moved back in with my dad. I knew then my dad deserved better but respected his wishes to be with her.

These things were placed in my mind, I didn’t just make them up. My mother put these thoughts into my mind. She was avoiding her truth…. 

Back then I had a lot of questions for my mother. I had been babysitting Rod’s kids since they could crawl. Rod was a family friend, what we were told, even got me a job at the print shop as a folder in high school. Before we get into that, keep in mind, Rod was my boss from a young age, babysitting his kids, now working for him at the print shop.

Every summer I watched Rod’s girls, took them to parks, library, pools, walks, etc. I always made sure we had something to do to keep them busy. It was almost like they were my younger sisters, little did I know, that could have been true. The questions I mentioned before, I didn’t ask until I was nineteen, with some liquid courage. 

There were times my mother would come by Rod’s house to “check on me”, always about the time Rod would be home, but not his wife. Many times my mother would say “I’ll meet you at home”, instructing me to leave. I always thought it was weird and asking my dad once why she went over there. Questioning my mother was not something any of us did. My dad only said “we all grew up together, they’ve always been friends”. That didn’t answer my question, but the demeanor he had told me I hit a nerve. 

After moving in with my mom, we had become more like friends now that we lived together without the boys around.  We spent more time together and talk more now. We had to share a bed for a few weeks while I waited for my apartment to be available. During this time, I was wild and crazy going out every Friday and Saturday night dancing!

One particular night, my mother asked me to stay at a friends house that night so her and my dad could have some time together. Since they were separated and “working on things”. So, I made plans to not return that night. While coming home after the club I decided I needed to get something, can’t remember what it was now, and needed to get it before going to a friends house. Now, the club closes at 2:00am and the stop to get food and drive back, it was probably 3:30am when I pulled up the the apartment my mom was staying. When I decided to keep driving right by her car and a truck that looked exactly like Rod’s truck. 

I told my friend never mind whatever it was I needed, it could wait. Never mentioned whose truck was there, and I don’t think she noticed. I was embarrassed not only for me but also embarrassed of my mother cheating on my dad with, of all people, Rod. I didn’t sleep at all that night while my mind raced on what I actually saw. I know what his truck looks like, he was my boss at the time. 

What does one do when they’ve caught their boss, over the years, at their mom’s apartment at 3:30am on a Saturday morning? Can you guess what I did?

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Let’s fast forward a bit and get into the nitty-gritty drama filled part of my life shall we. No, age fourteen was not my worsts of dramas. Maybe it was the first, but definitely not the last. 

I‘m 19 years old, just broke my engagement off with Jeremy of 3 years and moved out of his house and into my uncle’s apartment with my mother. Let me explain.

I started dating, actual dating, when I was 16 years old. My first real boyfriend was Jeremy, who took my virginity. Not that he ever believed me, cause I didn’t bleed my first time. They are called tampons and I had been using them since I started my period. Anyways, we dated all through my high school, went to my senior prom, etc. Up until a year after graduation when I left him, broke off our engagement, and didn’t look back. There are too many reasons to explain, but honestly I did myself a favor by leaving.

During this time, my mother and father separated, can’t remember how long or why. I remember my mother and father always arguing, usually mom crying about something dad did or didn’t do. My parents would go WEEKS without talking to each other. They always slept in the same bed but would avoid each other. My brothers and I would get the “go ask your mom/dad” so we became their messengers during their fights. My mom would be in her bed, laying on her stomach watching tv after work while dad always kept busy out in the garage. 

My dad was quiet and didn’t say much, not like my mom, all she does is talk. When I think back, it’s probably because my mom would talk over him or not give him a chance to say something. Again, complete opposites my parents were from each other. I remember one night my parents arguing and I woke up to my dad saying, “I’ll drive into a tree and make it look like an accident”. I opened my door crying and yelling for my dad to not leave. My mom was yelling at him and he kept walking away from her, even as she’s pulling his arm. Those things happened more than I want to admit. I always heard their fights since my room was next to theirs. I never told my brothers about the fights, always thought if I told them, then they might actually divorce. 

There were so many times I remember my mom crying and blaming my dad for whatever it was he did to make her upset. At one point I had an attitude towards my dad for treating my mother “that way”.  Who would have thought I grew up with a manipulative narcissistic mother that knew how to get her way. In my teenage years, I thought my dad was the perfect dad, but the worst husband. I was confused how much my dad cared about us kids but not care as much for my mom. 

OfficerAmanda seemed to have a good relationship with everyone, she was always talking to people. She really did fit in with our small-town folks. 

Officer Amanda and I had a mutual friend, but I stayed cleared when she came around. It had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with her uniform. She tried talking to me a few times, I was quiet and off putting, but she never pushed me. 

We did end up becoming great friends once I got to know her and explained my “triggers”, she is the reason I got past those triggers with police and I thank her for that! Just because you found two rotten apples, doesn’t mean the whole bag of apples if rotten! That’s how Officer Amanda described it and she’s right. There’s always a potential of all the apples being rotten because mold spreads, BUT you must look at each apple individually to confirm. 

Ever heard the expression “Expectations brings disappointment“, me either but I believe it whole heartedly. You can have expectations for yourself, but if you have them for anyone else, you will be disappointed. I’m sure you are questioning this asking when, why, how and I will be glad to explain. First, answer a question before we get into it, “Who can you control?”

Be brutally honest with yourself, if you are, the answer is “I can only control myself”. Years of trauma, triggers, depression, anxiety, and therapy all happened to me but I was still in control of myself in the end. Things could have gone differently so many times, but they didn’t. They happened to me and made me who I am today. Most people thank their families, parents, and I’m over here selfish as hell telling myself, “YOU GOT YOU HERE!”. 

Yes, I can thank many people for being there when I needed them, but ultimately my choices, decisions, actions, etc. were in my control. I couldn’t control my mother to not cheat, couldn’t control Tyler be a decent father, and I can’t control my sons future. This is called acceptance and it was a rough road to get to, some days I take steps back. As long as I keeping trying, keep pushing forward, I will become an even better person.  

I went on about my life as much as I could, ignoring the trial and what my future was going to be. I just went through it numb, like it would be ok eventually. It did turn out the best for me, but even today it makes me ask why. I‘m not going to name all the “why’s” and it won’t matter, I will never know why that situation became such a disaster in a short amount of time. A lesson learned and still to this day don’t understand the “why” behind it. 

I would consider myself a decent human being and thought that experience was done and to never think about it again. That’s not realistic though, triggers are real and can come out of nowhere and smack you into next week. I got pulled over by my small town police officer when I was 16 driving the family car, for expired plates. As soon as I saw the lights on come everything in my body wanted to haul ass to get the hell away from them. I couldn’t control my emotions and was hysterically crying and shacking trying to pull over. The poor officer came to my window and was immediately asked if I was ok and I needed EMT assistance. I could barely breathe, I could only say, “my dad is Jospeh Remington”, on repeat. The officer called his partner and had him go get my dad. 

Once my dad was there, I started to calm down and breathe somewhat normal. The officer explained to my dad that he pulled me over for expired plates. My dad had told my brother to put the new tag on, but he left it in the glove box. So, all this could have been avoided, but it also showed me that the “triggers” my therapist tried to warn me about, are very much real.

Triggers can come in many ways, mine became anxiety about police officers. I wasn’t proud of it but I was not ashamed of it either. I was not against the police, but I was not wanting their help either. That was until I met Officer Amanda, the only female police officer we ever had in our small town, don’t believe me, look it up, LeRoy, Illinois.

The usual procedure when you get arrest, strip down, squat and cough. Then came a camera? The woman walks in while I’m still naked and says she needs to take pictures. I was so drained and mentally exhausted I didn’t fight I just let them move me how they needed me to take photos. After that I was able to shower and placed in a secure room. The second I hit the quarter inch thin plastic mattress, no pillow or blanket, and crashed. 

They put me on a suicide watch due to old scars and knowledge from my parents of my depression recently. I was already seeing a therapist, unfortunately, I had to see a new one. I don’t remember the reason to switch therapist but I do remember I had only met the new once or  maybe twice. They didn’t know me anymore than the damn judge did, I was screwed. 

To make a really long boring story short, I was in Juvenile Detention Center for two weeks and was released right before Thanksgiving. Once my parents found a lawyer, the judge ordered me to go home and back to school during the trial. The original judge I had made me stay for two weeks, after reviewing the charges against me. My lawyer, fortunately, was affiliated with the first judge and we were ordered a new judge. 

The Juvenile Detention Center could hear me screaming in the background for help. They took pictures of me from the buries and marks I had on me. They testified against Office P and Chief, as they told the court they called multiple times with more and more charges on me. Multiple people at the center had answered the phone and heard my screams. The pictures justified me being rough-housed by the officers, as I was only 70 pounds. All charges were dropped after over a year long trial, and both officers were terminated.