The fucked up orphan's diary

The very beginning

Marissa's not my real name, but that's what everyone calls me.

I've actually had multiple names, which is bizarre to me.

When I was born, Mom named me Cassandra but things got changed and here I am as a Marissa.

When I am bored I sort through mom's things looking for answers. I have lots of questions about who we are.

Facts I know: We are not from Washington state, mom told me that one.

Washington is beautiful but it does have it's down falls. For example, it rains here constantly. My mom is from New Hampshire.

Nothing about us is what it seems.... 

I was born in Rochester, New Hampshire.  I don't remember a single thing though since we left the state when I was 8 months old. I think I'll just say I'm from Washington State.

My mom has an accent that could only come from living on the east coast. 

She also won't tell me anything about my real dad. She basically refuses to talk about him. That is why who my dad is, is such a huge question to me.

Occasionally she makes me practice hiding around the house. 

At this point though I'm honestly sick of trying to fit into small spaces. I assume my dad is a dangerous person because of her refusal to talk about him and these random hiding practices. 

I still wish to know him though, it's like a piece of me is missing. I hope I will find more information by going through her boxes, even a photograph of him would make me happy. 

I think a lot of kids feel this way when one parent is not present. You almost long for the missing parent more than the one who is there. They are a mystery, you need to know where you came from. 

Parents in the situation don't usually understand this though. Cue eye roll.

I Imagine if I asked my mom if I could communicate with my dad, she would flip. Probably respond with "yeah fucking right he's crazy". My response to that though is she's crazy too. Too prove my point I asked her one day.
The conversation went exactly like this.

"Mom who's my dad and why can't I know anything about him?"

She responded with
"He's a dangerous person and we aren't going to talk about him".

"Ever".

She got offended I would want to know him and guilt tripped me until I cried.

She never has it quite together really. Sleeps a lot, cries a lot. 

She gave up a lot to move here but still technically had her college degree. 

She gave that up too though, so she could get free money from the government stating she is "disabled". She is far from disabled, maybe needs some therapy but she could absolutely get a job with her degree and work. The only way to get rid of the loans though was to sign away her degree basically making it invalid.

"Marissa," Mom exclaimed.

What now? (She always interrupts my writing). 

"What mom?", I yelled from my room.

She always needs something.

I bet she lost her glasses and needs me to look for them. One time she really lost them and had to order a new pair. I am pretty amazing at finding things. I should add the longer it takes to find something the angrier she gets, so I've learned to be quick and smart when searching.

I swing my feet off my bed and land them on the carpeted flooring. Then quickly walk down the hall into the living room where she sits smoking a cigarette. 

"You need to do the dishes," she said.

Ugh I hate doing chores.

We don't have a lot of money, so while other families have dishwashers we wash everything by hand still.

At first, the sink didn't look that full of dishes. Cool. But after I've collected everything from around the house I've got a huge pile. Sigh.

The truth is I know what I've just told you is only a memory of my mom. 

For 30 minutes, I've been sitting here, in my new home, on my new bed, reminiscing about moments from the past.

My mom didn't just ask me to wash the dishes, that was months ago. It's easy to get trapped in memories these days. I'm still trying to make sense of the life I had with her. It's like I'm trapped in a cloudy mental state passing back and forth between then and now. 

Facts:

My real name wasn't always Marissa, my mom changed my birth name to get away from my dad.

My mom came to live in Washington when I was a baby.

One last fact: My mom died before I could get any answers about my dad.