Therapy

Going to therapy was always kind of a problem for me. Apparently I have so many problems that the psychiatrist thinks I am delusional. It is only when I start pulling out legal records that they figure out that my life is just that fucked up. Basically I have had some pretty bad psychiatrists who have told me "no one's life can suck that bad." Which is pretty much why I don't get along with or see eye to eye with any therapist.

So yes, I have been shot before. My father shot me with a shotgun for not hoeing enough corn fast enough.
Yes, I had to dig out the bird shot myself and treated the wounds. Yes it hurt, and yes it made me upset. So now I tend to be afraid of having a gun pointed at me with intent. Go fucking figure.

Yes, I would regularly get woken up by a deranged man who would order me out into a field to do manual labor all day in whatever I had slept in the night before. I wouldn't even be given the chance to grab shoes, food, or water. The sharp gravel path to the field really hurt my feet then the hot  clay dirt would burn my feet. To this day I have ridiculously thick calluses on my feet. Then I had to work in hot sun till my mother came home and then I would be given access to food and water. But if I didn't get enough work done he wouldn't give me dinner. On those days I would have worked outside all day and would then have to cook all of us dinner. The worst part would be if I didn't cook enough food then I wouldn't even get any. Yes, my father was a complete asshole.

Yes my father and uncle both have meth addictions. He chose meth over me so I have been adopted by a couple different men who accept me as their daughter. It is a pretty sweet deal. I get fathers who actually give a shit about me and don't have to put up with contact with a meth addict who tried to kill me repeatedly.

Yes I grew up with a schizophrenic sister who would randomly beat the shit out of me for no reason.

Basically with all of this we aren't even up to the issues I had by age 10 so I can pretty much win on having a sucky childhood. Too bad that the shit still hasn't stopped flying yet.

Inheritance

I don't remember much from my great grandmother because I was so young when she passed. She had a tiny dog that was more afraid of me than I was of it. The hair was so thin that even the gentlest petting would cause her to flinch. She always felt safer with great grandmother than with me.

She sacrificed her only bath tub to grow a large tree which she had kept for years. No one would let me touch the tree and for years I didn't even think it was a real tree. No matter how much I begged I wasn't allowed near the thing. I don't even remember which kind of tree it was but it basically had the bathroom to itself. Not having any toys for me to play with she would turn on this electric flower which would change colors. I would sit here for hours in a darkened room with a rubix cube just watching the colors change. I never did get very far with the cube though since one of my cousins had already taken all the stickers off and put them back on once to show that he had solved it. A different cousin took the think apart once to solve it so it was rather broken.

When she died I didn't know what that meant. My mother tried to explain that we couldn't go see her any more and that all her things would be given away in a process called inheritance. I really wanted the light with the color changing flower. I had my heart set on the item knowing I would receive it. What I was given rather shocked and appalled me. An antique zit popper, an emergency sewing kit, and antique dish towels. Yes I admit that I had really bad acne but to have it explicitly mentioned in her will in front of the entire family was a bit much.

The device bears a striking resemblance to this one. Basically I was explicitly given a small piece of aluminum that would fit in the palm of the hand and had been used by many of my relatives to remedy their acne. That thought on its own is rather gross. But with the application of some bleach I had to admit that the device did work. I used it for years till I lost it. The sewing kit I lost almost immediately. Apparently I was only given it to stop the relatives from arguing about who should get it. The dish towels are something I still use today but it took a college class to explain them. See flour and sugar were once sold in fabric sacks and people would then use those pieces of fabric for other purposes. In this case they were turned into dish towels. I know because the logos are still on them though they have faded a bit.

It is nice that she mentioned me in her will but it took years to fully appreciate the irony and oddity of such gifts.