Hi. My name is Debbie. I'm a rapidly aging 44 year old redhead who has alot to say that probably no one is interested in. I'll never be consistent with my blogging, bore everyone to death and this may never be read, who knows? But here goes, from the beginning:
I was born in July 1966 in Tennessee to a beautiful redhead and her husband sperm donor after 6 years of marriage. 7 months after my birth as she was driving to work on icy roads, my life changed forever when she slid off an ice covered bridge and died a few hours later. My "father" went off the deep end for a very short period of time, very short. All I ever had after that day was my loving maternal grandparents who raised me and did everything they could, despite being poor southern people, to spoil me rotten. 6 weeks after my mother's death, my 24 year old father married my 14 year old step mother from hell. Of course, he didn't have any testicular fortitude, so she, being the bitch she was, is and always will be, easily convinced him to forget I existed. I am the spitting image of my mother, or at least I was at age 22. That is as old as she ever got to be. My grandparents only had one child and I was all they had left. I was a tomboy, still am. I had little overalls to match Papaw's, worked on the old 1950 Chevy truck with him, picked cotton, worked in the garden, and even got an occasional but small sip of beer with him. In my eyes and my opinion, he was the greatest man that ever lived. My grandma was really cool, too but with a hell of a temper. Not violent, just a hell of a temper. We had a pet racoon named Sammy. He died when I was 4. I still pull out the only picture I have of him and he's laying on my father's chest. He was 14 when he died. I'll never forget how hard and long I cried. I got a social security check until age 18 for some reason because my momma died. Father was my legal guardian and wouldn't let my grandparents legally adopt me for reasons unknown. The only time I saw him for years at a time was when he would come over to sign that check. He lived 8 miles down the road. Sometimes he wouldn't even come by so Papaw had to go hunt him down to sign it. It's funny how I can remember things like that. So why am I blogging? 1. I need to put all this somewhere before I do get old enough to forget it. 2. I have read blogs, forums, etc. where others put down memories and feelings and I appreciated them because they are important to the ones who typed them. 3. Right now my life SUCKS. I have had major depression issues for over 20 years, dr. medication doesn't work, talking to an unsympathetic shrink with a time limit doesn't work, my best friend since 1st grade has enough problems of her own and I refuse to burden her with mine, SO this is my vent, my memories, my heartaches and my story to share whether anyone out there cares enough to read it or not. At least I can stop holding it in because holding it in is doing alot more damage than good. I have no kids, 1 friend and a husband with a blank stare, so I gotta do something. I'll continue this story next time. Maybe someone will read this and I can make a few friends that I may never meet, but at least I won't be shutting the world out anymore.
