Trying something new

Some of you might think this is my autobiography.
Some of you might believe it has something to do with me.
Some of you might suspect it is the very beginning of a new story that just gripped me today.
Some of you might be right.



Sometimes I wonder how I could have screwed up my life so much.

I don’t think it was always screwed up. For a while it seemed ok. When I was young. Very young. But even then, there was the hint that I would one day make a spectacular mess of everything connected to me and my crazy life.

My mother was bipolar. That’s not an excuse for my behavior. But it is an explanation for hers. I didn’t know what bipolar was when I was a kid. All I knew was that my mom went through these crazy highs and scary lows. When she was up, everything was good. When she started heading down, the world was about to change for me in a major way.

I went to 27 different schools when I was a child. I lived in 7 different states, and in 2 different countries. We moved a lot because every new place was a new life for my mother. Every new city was a brand new adventure. Usually that meant a brand new man, but sometimes that was ok too. In addition to the number of schools, the various states and countries, I also had 7 step-fathers. Yes, I said 7. Mom was married to 8 different men.

Growing up, all I knew was that I didn’t want to be like her. I knew that I wanted to get married once. I wanted to have 3 children. I wanted to fall in love desperately and forever. I wanted to live somewhere close to the ocean, in a little place where I could hear waves lapping at the sand. I wanted to be happy.

I wanted to be sane.

I couldn’t be farther from the things that I wanted if I tried.