The Ingredients To A Perfect Disaster

Sharron Norton

Personal Memoir

Ms. Pahomova

3 English

The Ingredients To A Perfect Disaster

They tell you don’t forget where you came from. I regret where I came from. The manifestation of my existence was solely based on the desire of skin and a placeholder to fill the missing piece of a father’s love. There was no love in my making, nor is there today. No happy white picket fence type of family. Instead what was left of this mess was a 15 year old high schooler with clothes that looked as if it couldn’t barely fit her small petite body always with a big snow coat on, rushing to the bathroom. And to your surprise, hiding me.  

I never really knew the details surrounding the circumstance around my coming into the world.  I was left to soak up whatever my mom or grandma desired to slip out. I was left to suffer the longing to want a father. I’m independent and I had to learn that the hard way. I learned dependability, for it was a gateway to disappointment. Do you know how it feels to always feel alone? Do you know how it feels to always be disappointed, to always feel drained by the disappointment? I do not want your pity. I don’t need anyone to tell me that I’m better off, or that my life's better without him in it. I’ve understood this from a young age. I’ve understood that two can sometimes be better than three. When the last one is only there to anger you. All that I am is all that you see. My heart not being placed on my sleeve is no longer a defense mechanism, but a way I’ve chosen to live my life.

So I live taking one day at a time. But sometimes the noise gets too loud. The clamor begins to suffocate me. And just before I lose the grasp of what really matters after I worked so hard to get to that place; I slip back into my old ways. A place of solitude where my mind was beaten to believe I was nothing. A place where I was pushed into blaming myself.  A place where I envied others lives, and punish myself every day for it.  For it’s a sin in my religion. I tell myself it’s the color of my skin, but it’s not that simple. I know I am beautiful on the outside. But ugliness was linked to the environment I lived in. I envy the innocents my peers have had growing up when it has been ripped out my bare hands with my permission. I had no voice. For was silenced by my emotions on the lost of him that if I expressed how I felt then he would once again leave and this time it would be my own faught. So I endured the misery. I took comfort in it for it made me feel. The inflicting torment it gave me constructed agony in the best way. A love-hate relationship, I guess you can say.

But with this self medicate came along the nastiest type of anger. I would put on this personification that I was okay and that it didn't affect me but inside, self-hate dominated. I hated myself, for how could I have wanted somebody in my life that didn’t care about his only daughter? A person who had the money to care for you but choose not to. How could I want a man in my life who purposely disrespected my mother constantly and caused the feud between our relationship? The load of regret became too heavy and all at once it towered down. All that was left of the ruins were brokenness. He left me with nothing. The only thing this man gave was the color of my skin and my appearance. Everything else he selfishly possesses in his childish soul. Everything he took from me that prevented me from access to a world of both parents to happiness of a little girl, innocence, and peace. He denied me access to feel the love from a father.  What he stole from me was the opportunity on how a man should treat you. I have to learn this on my own for there are just some things a mother can’t teach you.  He says, “ All the things that you went- Nu, I never meant to put you thought it”. He explains this to me as if he wants me to tell him how to right his wrongs. But I couldn't and wouldn’t. He was too stubborn for his own good to see that he was the cause of my despair. And like father and daughter,  I was too.

I felt lost in this world. All that went through my head was that no one could understand how I felt. In the aftermath of it all, I felt that I would never be truly cherished. But in the midst of it all, I got the chance to actually feel loved by someone. This person was very dear to me.  But I let my fear of letting someone into my life misguide me and letting a great opportunity fade away. I had been beaten into submission into thinking that all the good things that came across my life would never work. I was so used to believing that all men were the same. I let fear and the anger of my father, once again, rob me of what I was to be awarded of. And still today I am troubled by my decision. Trouble from how my life could separate such a great relationship. How it's baggage dressed in sheep's clothing took the responsibility to purposely shout out to destroy happiness when I need it most. I was arrogant, thinking it would actually last right? Yeah, I know.  

I blame my failure at a true relationship all on me. I didn’t know how to handle all the emotions. For so long I’ve had all of these emotions bottled up because I am ashamed of my thoughts. I can’t talk to my friends even my mother, who is my closest companion, about how I feel because I have no words it. And if I try to speak on my body will drown in it all. And I carry this burden with me every day. I don’t feel anymore. I used to be sad but now I’m just numb. And now, all of a sudden I feel really tired. Like the world had drained me of everything that I had. And suddenly,  I decided it was time to change. To not give this man the satisfaction of feeling he won. To live for my sisters. Live for my mother and do the best I can so I won’t be classified as another stereotype. But I do have my bad days. Someday I feel the world can be just a plane of my existence and nothing more, just repeated streets and highways, to remind me that the world never changes. And during those days, the only consistency I enjoy is sleep.

Comments (3)

Leah Bradstreet (Student 2019)
Leah Bradstreet

I learned about you, Sharron. I did not learn more than 1% of you, but I did. For me, who you are can be related but is not dependent on who raised you. One day I hope that you can love yourself enough to live for yourself too. Your poetic language slid softly into my mind and my heart. Descriptive and detailed, the past you was very communicated on your part. Overall, you did a very well done job.

Weston Matthews (Student 2019)
Weston Matthews

This is truly amazing, just wow!!! So poetic and reflective and introspective. The reader can tell you really took time to figure yourself out. It's like a sad but beautiful stream of consciousness. Your first paragraph is remarkable

"The manifestation of my existence was solely based on the desire of skin and a placeholder to fill the missing piece of a father’s love"

WOAH! hypnotizing image there

The essay techniques I see here work very well. Good balance of pace and story and reflection