First of all, I want everyone to know that I am not telling you this so you can give me pity. I frown on pity. I don’t want you to say, “I’m so sorry all that happened to you.” No. I beg you, take what I am about to tell you as inspiration to fight any traumatic experiences you may have endured. I will also make sure you all know, that just because this happened to me, I do not pity myself, for I KNOW for a FACT, that many MANY people have had much worse lives than me. I will not deny that. It’s those people I want to reach out to.
I was a kid when it started. I was young, with white blonde hair and brown eyes, living with my unwed parents and my half-brother. I was as innocent as any other child. I barely remember mom and dad fighting. The only thing I remember is that one day when my mom and dad had a huge fight; I was two. I remember distinctively, as the police took him away… let me tell you, he didn’t do anything. My mother was throwing things at him, and showing me what violence was towards him, and my dad didn’t lay a hand on her. She called the police on him, and they took him away. I remember yelling at the police that I wanted to go with him, and my mom telling them he tried to KIDNAP me from her. But I WANTED to go with him. That’s when I learned police were bad people.
The next thing I remember is being home alone late at night with my brother, eating uncooked ramen, watching the Simpsons, and playing Super Mario Bros. on the Super Nintendo, while my mother worked at a bar. I remember a storm hitting our area, and the power went out. My brother had to play around with the power box to get it going again, so we could continue playing video games. My brother was the only one I had.
Next, I don’t remember how old I was, but I remember being very sick. I woke up in the middle of the night, freezing and dizzy, and I woke my mom up, crying about how I didn’t feel well. I didn’t understand back then that mommy was what they called “drunk.” Mommy, of course, got angry. She started screaming and spanked me with a wooden spoon, to the point where it actually broke. I cried and cried, “mommy, I feel sick!” begging and pleading for her to stop. Finally she seemed to come to her “senses” and felt my head. Finally realizing that something was wrong with her daughter, she took my temperature, and I don’t remember exactly what she said it was, but I am almost positive it was 105 degrees. Now, 108 is the temperature you need to achieve in order to die. We lived in a small town in Idaho, the nearest hospital was the one I was born in, the one in Cour d’lane (or however you spell it). Not only that, but it was like 3 am. She had to call a doctor asking what to do. The next thing I remember was being placed into a bathtub filled with freezing cold water. It was so shocking, I screamed to get out. Now I know, she actually did a very dangerous thing by putting me in there, but obviously I’m alive now.
I don’t remember a lot that happened after that except for short memories of her many boyfriends and them beating each other up. I saw my mom stabbed one of my step dads with a fork. My mom had been arrested more than three times while I was a child. I witnessed these things that a child should never witness. But still, I uttered the words, “I love you mommy.” Where was daddy? Gone. No contact, no birthday presents, and according to mom, no child support. I was always screamed at, hit with wooden spoons, and has tabasco sauce on my tongue. I think I remember a belt just on one single occasion.
Like I said, I don’t remember much. Really, the next thing I remember was my mom fighting with my brother, and he ran away to california to live with my grandmother, and he didn’t take me with, even though he knew that mom was only gonna get worse. And she did. Eventually I was fed up at eight years old, and begged to go live with my dad. Miraculously, she let me move to Washington to be with that family. They were bad too. They never laid a hand on me, but they were all angry and psycho. My grandmother on my dad’s side was this twisted woman who spoiled you and bought you as much stuff as you wanted, and then turned around and said that you owed her. Then my aunt Amy was also psychotic. She reminded me of my mother. She yelled at everyone over the smallest issues. She never hit me, but she hit her daughter. My father also had anger issues, getting angry over small things like dropping an unbreakable object on the floor or getting a mark on his shoe or something. Don’t get me wrong, out of the two, he was the better parent. He actually fed me. But he yelled, and he was fucking scary. A year later I thought I missed my mom and went back to her. Big mistake. My step dad Mike was still there. The next thing I remember is him and mom getting into a fight, and it all ended with me and mom covered in bruises and him riding away in the back of a police car.
Let me mention also that I never had a baby sitter when she worked late at night. I had to fend for myself for eight hours of the night, no matter how young I was. I also went to see my grandmother on my mom’s side every summer, the one my brother ran away to. One summer, I went to California, and never came home. I was forced to stay there because mom couldn’t pay the rent, was a raging alcoholic and a drug abuser, and she needed help from her not biological mother. She moved to California too. She was clean for about two years until she started drinking non-alcoholic beer, which have a very SMALL percentage of alcohol. It was enough to break her. One day, she bought a snake. My grandmother was so insensitive, she kicked us out. We moved to a small apartment in Alpine, where I went to middle school. My mom became an animal hoarder, ending up with the one snake, three hamsters, two rats that had babies to feed to the snake, one lizard, three cats, two guinea pigs, a rabbit, and a fish tank. I was responsible for feeding and cleaning up after all these animals except the snake, because she grew to eighteen feet. Middle school was horrible. In sixth grade, the only friends I could make were kids with down syndrome, so people thought I was a “retard.” I was made fun of so much, I was unmotivated to work. This is when my depression started kicking in. I failed all my classes and had to go to summer school. That’s when I found out that I WAS smart, and I had a quick ability to learn as long as I was motivated. In seventh grade, I tried to become what everyone wanted me to. I started wearing makeup and wearing preppy clothes. That was not who I was. I was a little more accepted, and tried to part from my… slow friends… I became friends with a girl named Caitlyn. She was my best friend, and she was a good friend. But towards the end of our relationship, I found out she was a liar, so I broke it off. I also had my first boyfriend in seventh grade, but on the last day of school, he broke up with me. During the summer, I was so depressed, I became a hardcore goth, listening to disturbed, slipknot, korn, and many other angry bands. I went to school in all black, dark makeup, and a morbid attitude. I hated everything, and even considered myself satanic. I cried all the time and drew horrible pictures. At this time, mom was even worse. She had started hearing voices and hit me regularly. She called the police many times because I tried to defend myself. Without her knowledge, I started cutting myself. Most of the time, I hid it under my slipknot wristband, but eventually that area became full, and had to make excuses for the other cuts. My friends used to hit them. I started going back out with my first boyfriend, and his sister became my best friend. I lost my virginity at fourteen. I was never taught about sex, let alone everything else.
One day, I had my neighbor spend the night. In the morning, I wanted to make breakfast. Mom had never had a problem with me cooking; I could cook almost as well as her. But for some reason, she didn’t want me to today. She started yelling at me and pushing me into a corner, right in front of my friend, scaring the SHIT out of her. My mom hit me over the head with a wooden spoon and shoved my nose into a corner, forcing me to hold two big books in each of my hands and holding them up until my arms were aching. My poor friend ran back to her apartment to her parents, who heard the commotion. She hit me again, and I pushed her, trying to get into my room. She pushed me to the floor, and I tried to kick her away, but she kneeled down and grabbed my wrist, digging her nails into it. She screamed something at me, but I don’t remember what it was. She threw my arm away, which was bleeding, and left my room, I shut the door, crying, and next thing I knew, I heard her calling the police. Next thing I knew, a police man was in the house, and my mom was telling him how I attacked her. He came into my room to tell me it wasn’t okay, speaking to me like I was five. I showed him my wounds, trying to tell him she did it, but he didn’t care. He left and I overheard him telling my mom she could “discipline” me as long as it wasn’t a closed fist. I still have those scars. I also have a scar from when she burned me with a cigarette. Another time, she tried to kill one of my hamsters, and scratched the hell out of my face when I tried to save him. Finally, one night, I got the opportunity to call the police on her. After telling the police everything she does to me, and how kids have threatened to kill me at school, and them NEVER believing me, they finally got a little hint and a police man drove me to my boyfriend’s house. I lived there for a few months until my mom got evicted and we moved in with my grandma. The second morning mom had to take me to school, my grandmother witnessed exactly what I was trying to tell everyone, and called the police on her. Mom tried to play the victim and reached out to me and said, “come on sweetie, let’s go,” but I was frightened, backing away and screaming that I didn’t want to go with her anymore. I was taken to school, and by the time I got home, mom had packed up and was forced to leave, and she had lost custody of me. The next three years were hell, because I had troubles getting over it. I was in therapy, but it was making it worse. They put me on prozac, but it made me even more suicidal than I already was. I broke up with my boyfriend because I felt like he was using me.
As a freshman, I became friends with all of the darker kids and the artists. I had a huge group. As the school year went by, the group depleted, and there was just three or four of us left. Ariel was one of them, my best friend. Even so, in highschool I was getting worse than ever. My sophomore year I went out with a boy named Tyler. He led me on, and the night my grandfather died and my brother attempted suicide, he said, “I’m thinking of breaking up with you. Don’t speak to me or be around me for a week. You are not allowed to approach me.” So I didn’t, crying constantly, everyday, and making a HUGE art project to give to him. But oh, he made it worse. He came up to me to hold me, pretending to comfort me, when he said for me not to talk to him. During this week, he was also going out with one of my “friends.” He hadn’t officially broken up with me. Finally it happened, and I was going to kill myself. It took my new friend Lauren to talk me out of it, and to this day she is my one and only best friend.
Junior year got a little better. Lauren got me into roleplaying. We’d roleplay online, and live roleplay at school. I had an escape. That was the year I developed a crush on Lauren and came out of the closet as a bisexual. I had always looked away from girls changing in the locker room, feeling embarrassed to look at them. When it really comes down to it, there were always clues, but I had always denied it. Lauren and I went through some rocky times, her dealing with my depression, my torment, all the shit I put her through. Senior year I started getting better. I stopped cutting myself, stopped dying my hair black, and started wearing color and dying my hair punky colors, like pink, blue, purple… but I still had some problems. I was underweight, I developed trichatillomania (involuntary impulse to pull out your hair,) and was very pallid. I developed insomnia, and an intense loathing for my grandmother, who at times was very insensitive and irrational, like every other old person. I stepped into the rave group, but I never touched drugs or alcohol. My mother taught me to never touch it… because that’s all I saw, and I saw what it did to her. I said, “I’ll never put my loved ones through that.” But one week, Lauren and I got into a fight, and she refused to talk to me. I attempted suicide, banging my head against the wall until I passed out. Frankly, when I woke up, I was surprised to be alive. I suffered, however, even to this day. I suffer from short-term memory loss. I can’t remember the summer of when I was eighteen. Even now, I have trouble remembering things that happen just a day ago. If I take a nap in the middle of the day, I can’t remember what happened before I went to sleep. Lauren and I got better, and I graduated highschool… only to be kicked out of my house by my grandmother. She said, “I don’t care if you’re homeless with all your possessions on the street, get out.” Ariel and her mother took me in at the last-minute. I was so grateful, and Ariel and I were inseparable. I started going out with my first girlfriend. That winter, I went to see my father in washington to see if that family could BE a family. They could not, they were just as hostile as they were in the past. I came home to find out I had no home again. I made a deal with Ariel’s mom to constantly look for a job. I searched for a week, just as I had been searching since the day I turned eighteen, but no luck. Finally, Ariel and I enrolled in beauty school, and I was allowed to stay. Near the middle of the year, Ariel became distant and started ditching class. I had reason to believe she started doing drugs. I know she started smoking, but she denied it. She always cut herself, but made stupid excuses on how it happened. Not only that, but she tried to become better than everyone, claiming to know more, when she couldn’t even spell the simplest of words correctly. Then she started talking shit behind my back when she thought I couldn’t hear, and began destroying my possessions. Then she started coming home at 3 am and waking me up so I couldn’t get to sleep. On weekends, she’d sleep until 4 in the evening. She never came to school, claiming she was sick. Finally, I had it. After getting my first job at walgreens, I moved back in with my grandma, and haven’t spoken to Ariel since. She was a great friend at one time, and was so fun to be around, but she destroyed her life, and I wasn’t going down with her. I graduated beauty school and got certified as a makeup artist and licensed as a hairdresser. Before I graduated thought, my girlfriend and I split up. Turns out she was doing drugs. I met Michael, and spend most of my time at his house. I started to realize my depression was getting much more out of hand and decided to go get medication, which is helping a lot. If I forget to take it, I have a panic attack and am uncontrollable.
After all that happening, yes, I am screwed up… but I thank god it all happened. It taught me a great lesson in life, told me what not to do, and gave me the motivation to do great things. I also would’ve never met Lauren or Michael if it never had happened. I never wanna see my mom again until she’s on her death-bed and I can make her last moments the most unpleasant of her life. But I thank her for teaching me to not become her.
That reminds me of what this Sunday is…. happy mother’s day.
So now you know that depressing story, I hope you’ll understand the position I’m in now. I color my hair as I want, in fact, this Thursday I’m going back to blonde. I wear anything I want, despite the color. I shop at hot topic and forever 21. I listen to disturbed, marilyn manson, and my chemical romance, but I also listen to lady gaga, ke$ha, and adam lambert, then I listen to many japanese artists. I draw morbid AND cute pictures, mostly cute now. My makeup is colorful, and my eyeliner a thin line. I’ve gained a healthy amount of weight and have gained some thickness to my hair, and my complexion is a healthy color. I am my own person, no longer slave to a label. I’ve matured a considerable amount, even though I sill am pretty immature. And in two weeks, I’ll know if I will finally be out of my grandma’s house and thrown into the real world of paying rent and bills, and being in my own house. I am scared and excited. It’s a sign that life is going to get harder, but much better. I am enjoying life, and am trying to get over my lack of confidence and my constant inability to relax. And so you know about me, and I will going on to more… happy posts.
Note: When it says “PRESENT,” that means during that time of senior year. My makeup started getting more colorful, and I went from pink hair, to blue and purple, to purple and blue, to pink and purple, to blonde, to pink, purple, and blue, to blonde and pink, to brown, to blonde, to black, to black and pink, and then finally to red. I’m going back to blonde this week. XD I like change. I also like my hair short, I hate it long.