I haven't shared any of these before

I'm not necessarily the world's nicest person, and I know this. It's a bit twisted that I get pleasure out of mocking people, and there's no justification for that. There are few lines that I won't cross, and as a general rule, I sort of preen when I really hit the mark and nail somebody with a few zings.

But, I try not to let it impact the personal things that go on in my life. I like to giggle about it with a few close friends for a few days, and then I get bored and stop the mocking. I don't like to write about those sorts of things in my journals, because they're small moments that mean nothing (they also define me in rather negative angles and while I will openly admit to not being all that pleasant of a girl, I don't want to just show everyone what I mean. I rather like when people tell me I'm not a horrid individual) in the grand scheme of things.

I've sort of changed my mind about that today.

Here's the thing. The main squeeze works with a total douchebag that thinks he knows everything about everything, from how to cure a smelly uterus (I didn't even know those existed outside of, say, the morgue) to curing acne with fucking PEE. PEE. You read that correctly. Recently, this assface started a blog that is actually full of snippets from his "book" that he wants to have published. When the main squeeze showed it to me, I jumped all over it. It was too damn ridiculous to not mock. Naturaly, I opened my mouth and commented on a particularly stupid entry. Of course it got me nowhere (the entry in question, by the way, pertains to women being whores for wearing make up and high heels, and that Satan hates us. That's a very small, but highly accurate, summation). Now I read this blog every couple of days to see what new bullshit he's selling as God-given fact.

The most recent entry I read essentially said that because nobody likes his book, his publisher (who may, in fact, be a cardboard cutout of Howard the Duck) believes his book will garner lots of atention and acclaim because it's controversial. Like he wrote Catcher in the Rye or something, and he's just two or three decades ahead of his time. While I generally laughed about this, it made me think yet again about my dream of being a legitimate, published author.

I have written so many things in the last five years. I am still plugging along on my fantasy novel (slow and steady wins the race, after all. And after busting my ass on it for four years then chucking it and starting from scratch, I'm not about to quit), I've started a few short stories...I even took a small detour into erotica (which didn't pan out. As much as I love to gossip about dicks, turns out I cannot write a steamy, detailed fuck scene. I blush like a nun). All of the people who know me wel have read these things and know about my desire to be published.

What most people don't know is I started writing a book about my daughter. I haven't said very much in here about her, because it hurts and I'm ashamed of myself. I feel that way almost constantly. What's strange is that writing about it helps, but getting into the frame of mind to write about it forces me to dig up very unpleasant feelings and memories. So I'm stuck in a paradox and I don't quite know how to dig myself out of it.

I try and live my life in a way that faces pain head on. How better to learn from a stupid mistake that makes you miserable? Burying it does nothing for you, and it just stagnates personal growth. I've only done this in snippets with my situation with my daughter. I try and bury it for as long as I can (which doesn't work at fucking all), and then when it rears it's ugly head, I'll cry about it for a few hours, tell myself some bullshit lie, and then I play with my son.

I don't want to be that way anymore. So this morning, after reflecting on fuck face's horrible (probably false) exclamation that he will be published, I decided that I should probably jump back into my book about Rhyann.

I'm going to post a very tiny bit from it, but let me explain something first. I know this is the internet. It's an open forum and you are welcome to say whatever you want. It's a civil liberty I take the utmost advantage of, and I'm not the most sparing of feelings. But while I also recognize that I have said some fairly nasty things to people who are just doing the same thing I am, I am asking that if you have something nasty to say, please say it to me privately. you can email me at ondrea.tucci@gmail.com and I will openly accept anything you have to say; just please don't post it as a comment. This is a very sore subject for me. After 5 years it feels just as open and fresh as it did the very first day.

Alright. Now that I've rattled off, I also want to explain what I want this to be. I really have learned quite a bit from this experience. I'm still learning from it, which is both beautiful and loathsome. I have, over the last five years, been writing to my daughter with the (far-fetched) hope that she will one day get to read these letters for herself and see that I never abandoned her, I just went away for a little while and I sure as shit paved a road to hell with good intentions that just got ugly. It didn't help that her father was an emotional sadist and manipulated me and took advantage of me....and it certainly didn't help that I was gullible and naive and still had faith in the good in everyone. I want to write about everything that happened and put the letters to her in between chapters or paragraphs, whichever works better. Even if I don't accomplish that, and nobody wants to publish this because it's just a giant pity party, I think sharing these will be carthartic. I hope, regardless of the outcome, that other people reading this will help me actually start to heal.

I will lose my nerve if I don't just put it in here now, so here is one letter that I've written to my daughter.

Letter written : 2/19/10

Hi munchkin.

I just got the news today that according to the law, you are no longer my daughter.

I want to say that today is the saddest day of my life, but I can’t. Today is a very sad day for sure, but it’s been a long time coming. My saddest day was when you said you hated me, and right then I lost my motivation to fight for you. You don’t want me as your mother, you don’t know me as your mother. You can’t remember me, I’m just a forgotten ghost.

I am so sorry I failed you, my love. So so sorry. I wanted to give you everything in the world, but if the best thing I can give you is space and the opportunity to live without me, you’ve got it.

I know this was painful for you…having to talk to me, and I know you were probably scared. I’m sorry that you were put through this.

I know you are loved, and will continue to be loved, and I hope that the woman you know as your mother makes you feel safe and secure and happy. I know she will never ever be capable of giving to you what I could have given to you, and the bitter part of me wishes I could hate her for that. But some people just don’t have the capacity for intelligence that I have. That I hope you have been blessed with.

It is no consolation to me that I have the opportunity to absolutely spoil your brother with everything I have no chance to give to you. He is so smart and funny and loving, and there are times when I look at him and hear him doing his letters and numbers and I close my eyes really, really tight and just pray to God that when I open them again, it’s you sitting right next to him.

You know what I regret most? You never called me mommy. When I left, you weren’t talking yet, so I never got that from you. I really hope that Shila knows what she has in that, because she has MY treasure. The closest I ever got was Momma Drea, and that’s not who I am. I am and always will be your mom. Always. I just wish I could have helped you know that, and I wish more than anything I could have heard you say it just once. I don’t know if I ever even deserved it, though.

I’m sorry I was so rotten, Rhyann. I pray to be able to forgive myself for it one day, and I am so thankful that you don’t remember me sometimes. I was in a hard space, and most mornings I barely had the energy or will power to get out of bed and play with you. But I snuggled with you, and watched movies. And on days where I did have energy, we did EVERYTHING. We went out and played with each other, and you picked up rocks just so you could throw them back where you got them from, and we played with our kitties, and we sang together and colored and those are the days that I cherish, bee bee. They are encased in my mixed up head, and I will never let go of them. Since you have forgotten all about those times, I am the only woman alive who remembers them. I will be the only person who can tell you about them, and I pray that you come looking for me one day, wanting to hear about memories like that.

I hate knowing that I have to let you go. But it’s been kind of selfish of me, trying to hold on to you when you have no idea why. I tried to explain it to you and it just made you upset. I can’t keep dragging you with me anymore if you’re not willing to come along, and without sounding like I despise you or resent you because I never could, this has become more of a burden for me than anything else. It’s been a Herculean undertaking, that’s for sure, and I never knew something with the potential for such a joyful outcome could be so painful during the process. I am so upset that this didn’t have the outcome I projected, and honestly, I know that part of my heart is gone until, God willing, you come back to me. I left that part of me with you, and I hope somewhere, you always feel that bit of me. I pray that you know you’re different and special and that you have more people that love you and miss you and will never, ever forget you. You are in my prayers and my heart every single day, my love. Paperwork and signatures and you not remembering doesn’t change what’s real and what’s real is you are my first baby. You were a gift from God that woke me up to how wonderful life can be.

I treasure you beyond compare, and I wish I could just give you a big hug to say goodbye. I wish I could have gotten to say goodbye period, but I didn’t get to. Something you said to me a lot before I wasn’t allowed to talk to you is “Goodbye means goodbye”. I believe that this one, our goodbye which is very one sided, isn’t a goodbye means goodbye forever. This one just means goodbye for now.

I will miss you and think of you every single day until we meet again. We will always have something special, because no matter what, I knew you before your father did. I felt you first, I touched you first, I LOVED you first. I was your very first home, and you were the first person in my life to make me feel like I was going to be ok.

I love you so much. That won’t ever go away. Find me one day, please. My door will always be cracked open waiting for you to come back.