How many licks does it take to get to the center?

There's been some heavy shit going on in my life recently.
Normally this is a place for me to make myself laugh...and yes...that's what I use it for, but sometimes it's tough for me to find something to laugh about.

I'll just lay it out there for you and maybe you can make ME laugh today...

Freya is pregnant, as you all know, and she's nearly 6 months along.
She's also out of control.
I believe she is doing drugs and doing whatever she can to get them.

I suspected she might be into something she shouldn't be when we were home this summer to visit...but now I have no doubt in my mind.
She has hit up everyone for money. Some have given it to her and some haven't...but in spite of the hundreds of dollars she's been given, her bills aren't getting paid and she's still behind in everything.
She called my mother this week for money.
My mother told her she didn't have anymore for her.
She proceeded to say every hateful and nasty thing she could think of once she was turned down.
You see...if she asks for money and doesn't get it, she says anything she can think of to try to get money...no matter how unreasonable it is or how hateful.

She acts desperate...and desperation is never a good sign.

She has a job but calls in sick all the time and will probably lose that job..if she hasn't already.
The last time she called me to ask for money, I told her I'd be willing to give her money for gas to get to work, but she isn't responsible with it and runs all the gas out...going everywhere EXCEPT work.
She could stay home, go to work and eat well, but instead she runs the roads constantly, calls off work and hangs out with drug dealers.
She's lost weight...not gained any and she's pregnant.
She practically chain smokes and doesn't eat.
Plus she refused to take a drug test the last time she was at the doctor's office and walked out on them...so now I don't even know if she's going to the doctor or not.

This is what has been occupying my thoughts lately.

She's twenty seven years old...
She's going to do what she wants no matter how much I plead with her.
I can't stop her from hurting herself and that baby.

I'm helpless to stop it.

I was not quite sixteen when I got pregnant with her.
She says that I don't know what she's going through, but I do.
I know what it's like to be pregnant, without the father being involved...to worry about how you're going to care for a baby when you're all alone...
The difference between the two of us is that she has people willing to support her and take care of her....I didn't have that luxury.

I was fourteen when I met her dad.
I was fourteen and I felt as though I'd lived a million years already. I'm not one of those people who blame their recklessness on their parents failure to be good parents, but let's just say that my mother's parenting skills were non-existent. She was still trying to figure out how to be happy and making all the wrong choices.
I was just there to help pick her up after her mistakes and hide out from the worst of them.

I wasn't afraid of dying.
I was reckless with my life and treated it like loose change in my pocket...pulling it out once in awhile to look it over and then shoving it back in my pocket again after deciding it wasn't that valuable after all.
I was a daredevil because I just didn't care anymore.
Things had finally caught up with me.
I was faithless and hopeless.

At night sometimes when I'd be afraid to stay home because of the people there, I'd run into the woods and lay against a tree to sleep. The night would be cool and the darkness would come, covering me up like a blanket. I'd hear the heavy breathing of an animal in the darkness and wonder if there was something poised over me, ready to bite into my neck and tear my throat open...but I wouldn't be afraid.

Nothing scared me anymore...I had more blind courage than the best of men. That happens when you're not afraid of dying.
There was one thing I lacked the courage to do...and that was to kill myself.
And yes...I did think about it, but I couldn't do it.
I felt that death would find me sooner or later, mainly because I was always running to the places where death hung out.

When I met Freya's dad, he seemed like an answer to a prayer.
He wanted to spend time with me...he was kind to me...he didn't hurt me or act like I was invisible.
I still wanted to die, but I wasn't as careless with my life as I had been.

Then one night, I finally gave in and had sex with him.

I hated it.

Of course after he got what he wanted, I wasn't his top priority anymore.
He avoided me and once he figured out I didn't want to have sex again, he almost completely vanished.

I didn't really care.
I had grown used to disappointment.
I was beyond caring...beyond hurt...beyond feeling.
I went back to my reckless ways, looking for death..offering myself as a sacrifice.

Then EVERYTHING changed.

I discovered I was pregnant.
There was one life in this whole shitty world that would cease to be if something happened to me.
One small life that needed me...that I could love and would love me in return...

I became determined to take care of myself and the baby growing inside of me and nothing could deter me...not the threats of making me get an abortion, not getting kicked out of my home...not losing the friends I had...not the judgmental stares of people.

I took care of my child from the day I knew she was there and I worked hard, sacrificed everything and never felt resentful about any of it.

I was sixteen and lived with my grandparents...worked nights at a factory and cared for her during the day...but I didn't complain.
I was exhausted and worried about making a good life for her, but I never felt anything but love for her.

She says I don't know what it's like to be in her shoes, but I do.
I know what it's like.
She's the one who hasn't opened her eyes...because she hasn't seen the gift she's been given.
She made the decision to have this baby and not get an abortion.
She said she WANTED this baby...

The whole thing makes me sick inside.

I've told her before that she saved my life.
She did.
Once I was given a reason to live again, I LIVED!
And I never so much as glanced back at death again.

So how many licks does it take to get to the center of this Tootsie Pop?



It'll take a lot more than I've been dealt so far.

It's funny but with every adversity I come up against, it makes me more determined to find happiness and laughter.

And so...I got this off my chest.
It's not exactly what I was planning to do today but you know the drill...I get up and write whatever's in my head...and this has been the only thing in my head for the past week.

I can't change her and I can't fix everything, so I'm going to have to accept what I have no control over.

It's time to let it go and get back to living again...