Marina Rose Martinez

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So I took my Grandma out to lunch for her birthday this Saturday and learned some fun new things my shit family has decided are true about me. Well, I always knew that they thought a few of them, but as we’re all adults now (some of us have been for decades) I’m pretty pissed that they can’t wise up and stop repeating school-yard rumors.

So, because my mom was a heroin addicted homeless person, I was raised by my grandma and her husband who hit me, and made it known that I was less valuable than shit on his shoe for every waking moment of my young life.

Whatever, that’s over I’m a gown up person now and I have a lot of years of 12 stepping behind me. I try to act like a human adult instead of an abused child so that’s just context.

Anyway, because I was raised by these people, they had the funds to send me to a lower budget private school until 8th grade. It was basically the hippie equivalent of Catholic school. Because I was a poor, fat orphan with bad social skills and thrift store clothes this was a horrible experience for me. Those kids were piranhas and I was an injured hippo. This is also context.

I moved with my mom to the eastern edge of L.A. county for a decent public high school experience where she discovered that copious amounts of prescription drugs don’t count against sobriety. By Junior year she would keep me up all night with her crazy druggie antics and babbling, and when I finally went to sleep she would start screaming at me, calling me names and drag me from my bed by my ankles, all the while I’m trying to figure out what the fuck is happening.

In her less demonstrative moments she would take my hand, sit next to me and explain how much she worried about my obvious inability to function, tell me that she really couldn’t see how I could take care of myself because I was so clearly an emotionally stunted retard. If I got into college–and that was looking unlikely to her– I would have to live with her because I was so incapable of being responsible that I would surely fail out and die. At this time I was working two part time jobs, performing insanely well academically, buying my own groceries and clothes and trying to stay sane.

Despite the fact that she had me at least 80% convinced that I was fundamentally bad, stupid and generally incapable of life without her, I was also sure that her behavior had started to affect my school work, and her yelling had elevated to shoving and her shoving had elevated to shaking, and I didn’t want to stick around for the next step. I finally left and moved into Kate’s garage. With a combination of the kindness of friends, and strangers I only had to sleep in my car 3 separate nights. My father gave me a beat-up Chrysler and my grandma gave me $50 a month for books. The rest was my hard work.

By Junior year I was taking 5 classes and working 50 hours a week. I got in three separate car accidents because I fell asleep at the wheel and woke up at green lights in the empty early-morning streets more times than I care to remember. The only thing I regret is that I put a burden on my friends by living with them without paying rent.

That was all context also. I hope that it didn’t come off too self-righteous. I know that it must have at least a little because I happen to be feeling very self-righteous right now. All of that text was a set-up to the real subject of this blog. I understand that my struggle is not unique, everyone suffers etc. I hope that I was able to convey a sense of my experience without attempting to invoke anyone’s pity or make any one else feel badly in any way. Fuck you if I did, you could have stopped reading at any time (I’m sure most of you already have).

Anyway, my grandmother that raised me has a son who feels that I got all the good things that he never had. He feels abandoned by his mother because my addict mom got all the attention when they were kids and I got all the attention when she turned out to be a shit parent. He was raised by the same two people that I was, and in fact it is my understanding that our horrible monster of a father figure was less jazzed about boxing children when my uncle was under his care. It seems to be a passion he discovered as he got older. Yay for me.

So despite his and my common experience of being raised in this hellish mess of a household–because let’s face it, just because grandpa got more punchy doesn’t mean he wasn’t always a piece of shit asshole–my dear uncle assumes that I am some sort of Pikenees-person, pampered and privileged.

When I bought the car I currently own out of my own student loan money, he was on the phone to my grandma in what seemed like hours, asking for her to pay several thousand for him (a grown man) to get his entire house re-carpeted because I (a college student) got a new car. He refused to believe that I was capable of buying a car for myself and continues to tell his children that I’ve always gotten everything I ever wanted, that my college was paid for and that the only reason I am successful today is because I got everything he (and they) never had.

And then he calls me, sweet as pie, and tells me how impressed he is with me, how he wonders how I have accomplished so much in my young life, “I mean if I knew your secret…”

At first, I would start telling him about my 12-step program because in my mind, it is probably the thing most responsible for my sanity. But he doesn’t want to hear about it, he’s waiting for me to break down and admit that I got everything and he got nothing. Yeah, I got all the punches in the head, I got all the hiding in the yard waiting for that bastard to move to another part of the house so I could sneak into my room. I got all the feeling really inadequate with all the other kids and their money and parents that loved them, and I got all of the waking up with silverfish in my hair because I lived in a fucking garage! (No offense Kate, a garage is better than a street corner. It’s just that it did have silverfish in it sometimes.)

Dear uncle, I’m sorry that you couldn’t care for your children because you never fucking grew up and I’m sorry that you’re experiencing sibling rivalry with someone 25 years your junior. I’m very sorry that you have decided to live in my shadow but please stop telling your children that I am some sort of princess. They never met the man that raised us. Only we know what he’s really like. You telling them that my sweet grandparents just threw money and love down on me is completely wrong, and you know that.

And don’t try to deny it, or why else would my cousin call my grandma and complain that I had college paid for and he doesn’t? Where would he get that delusion except from your lying mouth? Now your son has one more reason for being an unaccomplished loser drifter just like you. Now your child can lay around and do nothing all the while thinking that he is unable to care for himself.

Thank God I got nothing, because by the time I was his age if I wanted a place to lie around and be lazy in, it was called the motherfucking sidewalk. Thank God I had no parents because if I’d had you all up in my ears, telling me to blame someone else for your shitty parenting, I’d probably be just as whiny and entitled as your dough faced brat.

Even if I was the debutante that you think I am, that’s no reason to blame a child for your own children’s lack of support. Why is it that so many people just think that things should be handed to them, and when they’re not, they whine and cry about how unfair it is? No wonder you’re a failure. It’s just sad you’re making your kid into one too.

Dear cousin, you seem to be a somewhat level-headed, creative young person. I’m sorry that you think I’m a spoiled brat. I feel the same way about you. However, whatever we think of each other is irrelevant, as I hope to never have to deal with you after our grandmother passes away (god forbid, but we all know she’s not getting any younger). It does seem to me that I at least owe you this much: I put myself through private college in Orange County, Ca. I was able to live indoors the whole time except for the aforementioned three nights in the car. I graduated in four years and I now have a job I love and a decent paycheck for someone my age (24). If you choose to think that I was unable to do this on my own, then you will also think that you are unable to do this on your own. This is untrue. Please get a job and learn to support yourself, you’ll be much happier for it. Goodbye.

I found these on my computer tonight, and I realized that I never posted them. I drew them both on the same day, sometime in college. Junior or Senior year.





I made this for my sweet boyfriend. It has all our living things in it.