I miss you so much,
your laugh, your smile, your touch.
You always brightened my days
with all the smiles you sent my way.
I need you as my angel
to always be at my side.
I need you as my angel
to give me peace of mind.
I like to think your near to me
to know that you are there.
Even though I can not see you,
I feel that you are near.
Please do not forget me mom,
for you are always in my heart,
my thoughts and prayers.
I love you.
~By Shari M. Blom~
Even to hear you scold me once again… just anything… to feel something… to hear you…
I met and old friend today who looked at me very closely and said “You’re not looking normal these days!”
I asked her what do you call normal and she was a little stumped for words as I look rather annoyed at her.
I was serious what the hell do you call normal? and when will I be normal? coz when im called normal I don’t feel normal and I don’t want to be normal and when I want to be normal everyone tells me im not.
I remember when I was a rebellious child and boy, did I rebel! It was my mission to defy every authority and every rule that was put in my way. For some reason I wanted everyone to know that I wasn’t going to do as I was told. I mean why should I? Nobody understood me!
The more I rebelled and made everyone’s life hell the more they called me normal. When my social workers and school teachers held this massive meeting in which I was brought in and asked questions, they asked me to wait outside and I heard them talking. ( Note to adults.. if u wish to discuss a child make sure they can’t hear you, it seriously messes up their head! )
They called me “normal” and said this sort of behaviour was to be expected and it was nothing unusual especially considering my background.
Great I thought so why do they go out of their way to tell me off, punish me and have these massive meetings about me if this was “normal and to be expected”. I was not a happy bunny on hearing this; because for some reason I didn’t feel normal at all, if anything I felt out of place and very angry at all of them.
I wanted to be like the others who appeared normal to me yet they kept saying I was!
So off I set with a mission to prove them wrong that I was not their “normal”. The more I was determined to show them I wasn’t the more they said I was.
To cut a long story short I think I made many people have nervous breakdowns, split hairs and pull nails out with despair but they still kept telling me how I was feeling was totally utterly normal and it was nothing unusual. I think if I painted myself green and grew horns they would still have called me flipping normal
Now years on when I’m all grown and done all the things that were expected of me and am still doing everything that is expected of me. I have my degree and have become a successful in what I do. I am finally comfortable in my life, heart and soul. I have also come to terms with my childhood and past and I also think I’ve made amends in more ways than one. Yet now I’m told I’m not normal.
According to some, I’m hyper, highly strung, a recluse, unsociable and much more. They now say I am not normal and I look them in the eye and ask, well tell me what is normal? Because who would know the answer better than me?
Somewhere I once read that until your child doesn’t tell you they hate you, you are not doing a proper job of parenting. We would never have dreamt of saying such a thing to our parents but there were times I’ve felt it because of the restrictions etc that they put on us…
I love this story and I bet it rings true to a lot of people and especially some parents out there…
I had the meanest mother in the whole world. While other kids ate candy for breakfast, I had to have cereal, eggs or toast. When others had cokes and candy for lunch, I had to eat a sandwich. As you can guess, my supper was different than the other kids’ also.
But at least, I wasn’t alone in my sufferings. My sister and two brothers had the same mean mother as I did.
My mother insisted upon knowing where we were at all times. You’d think we were on a chain gang. She had to know who our friends were and where we were going. She insisted if we said we’d be gone an hour, that we be gone one hour or less–not one hour and one minute. I am nearly ashamed to admit it, but she actually struck us. Not once, but each time we had a mind of our own and did as we pleased. That poor belt was used more on our seats than it was to hold up Daddy’s pants. Can you imagine someone actually hitting a child just because he disobeyed? Now you can begin to see how mean she really was. Continue reading