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Animal Hoarding Dreams

I love animals, especially rodents. I have had many different pets in my life, but most of them were hamsters, guinea pigs, and rats. I had hamsters from age ten to around age twenty-two, and then I decided to switch to rats because I wanted a little change. I had some rats when I was a young teen, but at that time, we had many other pets, so I did not have time to really bond and learn about them…

You see, Erin, the woman who birthed me, was not just an irresponsible drunken druggie who had to spread her legs for every dick she ever came across, but she was also somewhat of an animal hoarder. We lived in a tiny apartment when I was in middle school, and we had so many animals, I’m surprised we didn’t receive some sort of fine. We had like three hamsters, a tank of fish, two cats, two guinea pigs, a rabbit, a lizard, a snake, and two rats. The rats eventually mated and gave birth to many litters we had to care for. Why? Well, the snake needed food, so we bred our own to save money… Erin’s choice, of course, not mine. Don’t get me wrong, I love reptiles, but I could never be the owner of a snake that ate anything bigger than a cricket just because I love rodents so much. I know it’s just nature, and I accept that, but still, I can’t see animals die, it makes me sick.

Of course, being the hopped up whore she was, Erin didn’t exactly take very good care of these animals. All she did was feed the snake, clean her cage, and buy supplies for the other animals… if we could afford it at the time. So who actually cleaned all of those cages, tanks, and litter boxes? Little ol’ me. The girl who was struggling with a combination of mental illness, severe bullying at school, and physical abuse from her sad excuse for a parent. I tried my best, but I was small, underfed, weak, and emotionally unstable. I loved our pets so much, and I really tried to show it, but how can you give so many different creatures the love they need? How can you focus on one if another needs you? The fish were probably the only ones who could care less if we spoke to them, but everyone else was in danger of being neglected. I also had school, so for eight hours a day, the animals had no one.

Every time Erin came home with a new pet, the part of me that liked animals fell in love, but the responsible part of me said, “how are we supposed to take care of another one if we can’t even care for the ones we have?” Still, I tried. The poor things weren’t as clean as they should’ve been, they were cramped, and sickness was inevitable. I was just glad that our cats didn’t try to attack the rodents, and in fact, they both befriended the rabbit. We opened the rabbit’s cage during the day so that he could run around the apartment, and the cats treated him like another cat, and would even sleep next to him. When they swatted at him, they always kept their claws retracted, and the rabbit was never nervous around his natural predator. I was very proud of our cats for this.

I sort of inherited the habit of owning too many pets from Erin, but I kept it under control. After the court finally took custody of me away from her, I was legally adopted by my grandmother, who had two cats (one would eventually disappear, we think she got eaten by a coyote), and the most I ever had was a hamster and guinea pig. When my guinea pig passed away, I stuck with one hamster at a time, that way I could focus all of my attention on him (I prefer male rodents over females). The hamster was well fed, watered, clean, and got lots of attention, and they always lived their full life span with no problem. Taking care of hamsters became my specialty.

I owned hamsters until a few years ago, and the last one I had was Pip. While he was still alive, I bought two rats on impulse, but my boyfriend and I were able to take care of them no problem. When Pip died, I did not adopt a new hamster, but stayed with rats, and since then, I’ve only owned two rats at a time. In case you didn’t know, you MUST have two rats living in the same cage, they are not like hamsters, who prefer to be alone. Now I am very experienced in rat ownership as well as hamsters. I don’t know what it is about rodents, but I just love them so much.

However, ever since my later teen years, I’ve had dreams where I owned cages upon cages filled with rodents. They usually include hamsters, mice, and rats, but sometimes there will be guinea pigs. In these dreams, the cages were all filthy, having not been cleaned in ages, there was no food or water, and each cage had way too many occupants. I have the feeling of fear that the hamsters will all start fighting because they’re supposed to be kept one per cage. Not only that, but males and females lived together, and I couldn’t keep track of who was dying, who just had babies, and which babies survived the obvious neglect.

Sometimes I have dreams were I find one of my old hamsters sleeping in a cage, and I say, “oh my god! You’re still alive?! I haven’t fed you in years!” Dreams like this have not decreased, and I actually had two in a row recently, one last night, and the one before last. Both involved keeping way too many hamsters and rats. There were no mice in these for some reason, but there have been dreams of mice, even though I’ve never owned a mouse. In these last two, there were so many occupants per cage, it was like a huge mass of fur, and in the case of the rats, tails.

I remember the predicament I had in these dreams about being unable to give each rodent the affection they needed. I guess I had given up on cleaning and feeding them because I couldn’t afford supplies, and the rodents kept running off, I couldn’t keep track of them. On top of that, so many of them had the same markings, so I couldn’t figure out who was who, and I couldn’t keep track of all of their names. I tried taking each hamster out one at a time, and rats out two at a time, but I continuously felt guilt about being unable to love them enough. There would also be times when the doors of the cages were accidentally left open, and the rodents would escape. I’d have trouble tracking them down and stuffing the poor things back into their small cages.

I don’t have trouble feeding, cleaning, or loving my real rats. Their cage is the perfect size for two medium sized adult males, and they’re clean, smell good, have shiny coats, have chubby bellies, and best of all, are happy. Taking care of them is not at all stressful, and since I work from home, there’s rarely a time they don’t have their mama right there if they need me. So why do I have these insane dreams where I’m uncontrollably hoarding rodents?

I think it has something to do with the fact that I was forced to handle so many pets at a young age. I had to deal with the filth, the neglect, and the guilt of not giving enough love all because Erin couldn’t take care of them herself. I felt so sorry for each pet we had, they did not deserve living that way, and I did everything I could to try and keep them healthy. Not many of them died before their time, luckily, but that doesn’t change the fact that their lives were more than just uncomfortable. I think, after more than ten years, I still keep that guilt hidden away in my subconscious, and it haunts me in my dreams.

I often go to the pet store with Michael or Sempai and talk to the rodents through their tanks. I coo at them, tell them how cute they are, and that I’d love to take them home. There was this large male rat I was totally in love with, but he was all alone in his tank. I felt so sorry for him that he didn’t have a buddy, and I wanted to take him home, but I knew it wasn’t the best idea. For one, I didn’t have another cage; I don’t think my medium boys would take too kindly to a new male that’s bigger than they were. In reality, I wouldn’t be able to afford to care for another animal, but I would if I could. As much as I love watching all of the hamsters, mice, and rats at the pet store, and as much as I want to take them home, I am responsible enough to know that I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to them.

I feel like Erin treated our pets like objects. You can’t just collect them like dolls or figurines, you can’t just bring home as many as you like, they’re not toys. Animals have thoughts, feelings, personality, and they will love you unconditionally if you take good care of them. I consider my pets my children, I talk to them like they can understand my words, and I do everything I can to make them safe and happy. These dreams I have are guilty feelings punishing me for not being able to give our old pets the lives they deserved.

Though, one of the guinea pigs we had in that apartment was saved by me. Erin took him with her when she was homeless, so poor Bandit was living in her car with her. I was living with my grandma, and I wanted him back, especially since I knew they were homeless. So I took him back, and he was so filthy, the water turned brown when I gave him a bath. If I hadn’t taken him back, he would’ve lived a much shorter life than he did, but he lived for another two years after that, and we had already had him for about three. He died from some trapped gas in his belly, which according to the vet, is a common problem guinea pigs have.

I wish I didn’t have to deal with these dreams; they’re distressing. It wasn’t my fault that I had to care for so many animals by myself, and yet I feel like it was. Then again, I blame myself for a lot of things that aren’t my fault, but I won’t get into that. It’s unhealthy for me to think this way, but when you’re responsible for another living thing and you can’t take proper care of it, it really affects you. This goes for people, like Erin, who should never have children. If you can’t afford a child, or if you feel you must hit a child, you probably should not have a child.

I guess the only thing I can do is make sure I love my animals to my fullest ability, as well as keep them clean and fed. That should be a no brainer… I guess Erin didn’t have a brain. Then again, people who decide to do drugs don’t have brains to start out with. I wonder how many more years my guilt will plague my dreams.

Animal hoarding is cruel to the poor animals. They are victims of neglect.

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I Guess I’m Really Not Over It

I started crying today, about five minutes ago. I cried a couple days ago too. “It’s my fault,” I said to Michael when he tried to comfort me. He told me it wasn’t my fault. “Your mother was a fucked up person,” he said.

I don’t know why I’ve been dwelling on it so much. It started November 3rd, which is my mother’s birthday. I thought I didn’t care, but thinking about it brought up a lot of bad memories. I wrote a song about how life was with her. It’s called “Upbringing.” I haven’t uploaded it to Youtube yet because I need to do the artwork for it, but when I do, I’ll post a link. In the meantime, here are the lyrics. I will explain the full meaning in each paragraph.

UPDATE: Here is the video

“Mama, you told me

The world wasn’t ugly

Full of sunshine and rainbows

And jars filled with candy

How did you think

That you could fool me?”

Basically my mother didn’t teach me about life. I remained naive about many things until I was about… 16? There are still things I don’t understand. She made it seem like life would be easy, that people would just hand me things. She wasn’t the best influence, either. She always did things that had negative consiquences, but, as I was a child, I didn’t understand. She didn’t teach me about my period, so I was very frightened when I got it. I also didn’t know it wasn’t okay to threaten to kill someone, and I didn’t learn until I was about 12 or 13. I didn’t know how to act around people, and I still don’t. Sometimes I can’t filter things I say, and frankly I’m not sure how to word things, so sometimes things come out offensive when I don’t mean it. She didn’t teach me about sex, so even at age 12, I was so scared of the subject, I would FLIP out in sex ed. I considered “sexy” a bad word, and thought sex was a horrible, disgusting thing that people did. All of these things I had to learn myself, and that’s why it took me such a long time to mature, and I’m STILL not quite there yet.

“Mama once told me that

She’d always love me

And nothing would hurt

Her sweet little baby

‘Everyone will love you,’

She said, ‘because you are

The sweetest child…'”

Alright, I’m a little pissed. I had all these explanations, and I clicked “save draft,” and somehow EVERYTHING got lost. What the hell. I’m not writing all that again, so I guess just interpret the lyrics how you want. I apologize. Well, I guess I’ll just write something short.

“My perfect world

I try to remind myself

‘Mama loves me'”

Well, this one is self explanatory.

“Mama, you told me that

I didn’t have to try hard

That I wouldn’t get anywhere anyway

Mama once told me that

She’d always love me

But now her voices say otherwise”

A few years later, mom started to get worse. She started hearing voices that she would scream at. She would ask me if I could hear them, and she’d even try to record them on tape. Of course, they weren’t there when she played them back. She began telling me that I would never get anywhere in life. She said I’d end up not graduating highschool, and I’d never get into a college, even though I was a very good student (except in 6th grade, when I was made fun of so much, I wasn’t motivated to work.) I was diagnosed at 12 with manic deppressive disorder. They put me on Prozac, which started to make me feel suicidal. I stopped taking it without my mom knowing. I’d flush them down the toilet, or pretend I forgot to take them. But she still told me she loved me. I heard her “conversations” with her voices, and from what I could tell, they were telling her how much of a failure she was, and how she screwed up.

“Back then, I didn’t

Know it wasn’t normal

For sunshine and rainbows

To turn black”

I didn’t know that other children didn’t normally endure this kind of thing from their parents.

“Mama, I told you that

I’d always hate you

For the hell and torment you

Put me through”

Finally, February, I was 14 and in 8th grade, my grandmother witnessed what my mother did. The police were called, and I was sent to school. By the time I got home, mom was gone, and she had lost custody of me. I hated her, and I still do. I was practically an orphan, mother gone, father not in the picture and not even paying child support, and my grandmother (who is also a horrible person, she fucks with your mind. My poor brother is living with her right now, and he’s always coming to me to vent because I’m the only person who understands what a bitch she is,) officially adopted me. Mom tried to talk to me, calling and asking grandma to hand the phone over. I refused. She sent me $100 for one of my birthdays, I think it was my 18th. Of course, I ripped up the card and spent the money on a Pullip doll. She was a sucker. I’ll take her money with the coldest, greedy heart I possess. My grandmother didn’t, and still doesn’t understand what happened to me mentally. I was suicidal and I wanted everyone, including myself, to die. She would try to invite mom over without warning me, which ended in a mental breakdown, and I ran off to a boyfriend’s house for refuge. On my 20th birthday, she tried calling me to wish me happy birthday, and I flipped, screaming at her to never try and make contact with me ever again. After hanging up the phone, I cried. Both Lauren and Mike said that, if they ever met my mother, they would fuck her up. Lauren was more aggressive, saying she’d probably kill her. Even though I told her I didn’t want her to go to jail, I felt proud of her. She was the first person who actually was willing to stand up for my past. And even though Lauren is… well… fucked up in the head now, I still appreciate everything she did when she was in her right mind.

The last part of the song has a bunch of previous lyrics jumbled together, and then “But you lied.” This simple line explains that everything she told me, or anything she did was a complete lie. I am grateful for the lesson I learned from her. She inadvertently taught me not to do drugs or drink because she did it so much. She motivated me to do well in school, because she didn’t even graduate middle school. The only mistake I made was losing my virginity at 14. Like I said, I wasn’t taught about that part.

So, the reason why I started crying tonight was because some idiot commented on one of my videos on Youtube, and started getting in an argument with worseorbetter about how sucky his life was because he didn’t have a job. He was basically whining about stupid crap, and that he wanted to just give up or something. That’s when I brought all this up, and concluded with “but I’m still going. I pay rent, I buy my own groceries, and I pay student loans, and my paycheck only averages about $700 a month if I’m lucky. I have shitty hours, but I can still take care of myself and not mooch off others.” Upon hearing that I was abused by my mother, he said, “uh huh, yeah right.” Once again, I flipped out on him. I know he’s an idiot, and probably just trying to get a reaction out of me, but that doesn’t mean that this isn’t a sensitive subject. After I was done writing my very angry comment, I broke down. I’m alone in the house right now because Michael is at work, so I didn’t have a shoulder to cry on, just my desk. I still have that familiar lump in my throat, and a very bad headache. I don’t want to cry about this, I want to get over it, but I don’t know how. Maybe it just needs a little more time. It’s been 7 years though, you’d think that’d be enough time. But I still flinch if someone raises a hand too quickly.

What a Man Should Never See

Call me old fashion, or whatever other term you can think of. I feel like there are certain things about a woman or what a woman does that men should never see. Of course, sometimes they see it anyway, and some say they don’t care, which is probably true….

The first and most important, and I’m sure all men will agree on this… unless they have some sort of sick fetish…. is a woman’s period blood. Alright, get it all out of your system, I know it’s disgusting. I have a blood fetish, but the two kinds of blood I don’t like are period blood and nose blood, frankly because both hurt, one has snot in it, and the other has uterus tissue in it. >_< ANYWAY. Remember the stupid girl I always talk about? (If you hate someone, it just means they’re always on your mind, I know that’s true.) Another disgusting thing she would do is try to roll her pads in the pad’s wrapping. Girls, if you do this, stop now. It’s gross. Basically it shows whoever enters your bathroom your smelly crotch blood, and it also shows you have no shame. No one wants to see the most disgusting aspect of a woman, not even other women. Women feel disgusted with themselves during that time of the month. AND SO WOULD YOU MEN if you were bleeding uncontrollably out of your ass for a full week, sometimes less or more. Yes, we’re hard to handle with our PMS, our unreasonable sadness, and our outrageous temper. But the bleeding aspect… just… ugh. I would rather transform into a male for a week every month than bleed. That would also mean I’d probably transform into Koda. XD Anyway, girls, what you should always do with your pads is roll them in a good amount of toilet paper. Yes, we all know what it is, but at least no one has to see the blood! Be reasonable.

Another thing is, a real woman REALLY cares about the appearance of her skin. Personally, I go pretty far. I’m only twenty, and usually when I take a shower, I cleanse my face, put on a scrub, and cleanse with a DIFFERENT cleanser, then get out, put on firming lotion, eye firming lotion, and astringent. Sometimes I’ll also put benzoyl peroxide on my facial imperfections, or a peel off mask that is left on for five minutes. Now… men should never see us do this. We look ugly and ridiculous with stuff on our face, and frankly… silly. We look silly. Yes, men will say they don’t care, but I’m sure some part of them do… I mean, I don’t even like seeing myself with that crap on my face, but I don’t have a choice.

Another thing is shaving. It’s bad enough if we let our legs get hairy because we’re lazy, or it’s winter and we only wear pants because it’s cold, but they really don’t need to see us shave. That’s all about that.

Recently, I’ve gotten over having people see me put on makeup. We actually look kind of cute putting on makeup.

Well, that’s really all I have to say about that.

“Then I suggest you watch me make snow angels.” – CM Punk (Raw 6-21-11)

Vengeance and Hate

One thing I’ve come to learn about myself is that I won’t tolerate anyone pissing me off, that is, if I can handle that situation. I didn’t really discover it until a few years back when a boyfriend (ex now) told me I was scary when I got angry. When Lauren agreed, I felt a small sense of power. Now, I don’t know if you believe in what horoscopes say… and I’m not talking about the bullshit ones you read in magazines. I’ve read horoscopes on Scorpios (my sign) that were so detailed and accurate to my life and personality, it was scary. One thing it said was that Scorpios are powerfully angry and hold long grudges. This has all been true to me, whether it be my upbringing, or pure nature.

This grudge bearing attribute really shown when I’d find out a friend was lying to me. I am very sensitive to lies, and only tell them to protect certain individuals or situations. When a friend would lie to me, they were no longer my friend… no… they didn’t exist. I wouldn’t speak or look at them. They weren’t there. When I hate, I do not bully, push, taunt… no. I let them wallow in their own filth. It doesn’t matter who you are; when you are being ignored by a person you’re used to being around, it fills you with this awkward, negative feeling. Fills you with thoughts of, “how long will this last?” or “maybe I can just walk away and everything will be okay…” No matter what, you are always on the mind of the person being ignored. It’s torture from the inside.

Thinking back, I also remember when I was fourteen and started living with my grandmother. The two of us just don’t get along. It doesn’t help that she is self-centered and can’t compromise. She only wants what SHE wants, and no one else can have a say. Part of it is because she’s old, I know. I hate old people. Anyway, she used to try to ground me. Nuh uh, not having that. You couldn’t keep me down. I would not let a low life-like her take away my pride or freedom.

I guess you could say I have the mindset that I always get my way. It’s horrible, I know, but it’s true, even when I’m not trying to get my way.

There’s a person who has wronged me recently. I hate her. I tried to stand her, but after pissing me off, it’s no good. She talks so much you can’t get a word in edge wise, she doesn’t flush the toilet, she doesn’t rinse the dishes, she makes her food with enough grease to kill a small elephant, she makes so much noise when people are sleeping, I have to cover my ears trying to fall back asleep, and she’s ugly as hell. Now, I wouldn’t have a problem with her being ugly if she didn’t dress like a slut, trying to wear mini skirts when she has no butt, or corsets when she has shoulders like a man, or anything pretty and sexy for that matter, anything I would look fantastic in, because I am actually pretty. She’d be better off dressing like a tom boy instead of a wannabe whore. Finally, she started getting on my last nerve by the way she spoke to me, always having to be right, even though, in the end, I was right about what we had been talking about at the time. One day, she deliberately left me out of something when I was over to hang out with them. She didn’t want me around, and she was being a bitch about it. So then came the vengeance. You do NOT treat me that way and get away with it. Lauren knows this. She said something along the lines of, “I know better than to mess with you, and now she’s learning it the hard way.” Something along the lines of that. Lauren had always said that one of her biggest fears was making me angry. In the end, this girl I hate is now resorted to hiding out in her room when I’m around and not getting any of the attention she strives for. We are pushing her out of our lives, and when she’s finally gone, I will have won.

Let me explain how I get angry. If I am screaming at you, most likely it’s a small issue, I’m PMSing, or I haven’t taken my meds. Now, note that you have to get me REALLY angry to witness this, and Michael has witnessed it very few times, but says he never wants to see it happen again. From my point of view, I go very silent, fuming to myself, imagining myself doing horrible things to people who have harmed me in the past. When I finally do speak to the person who had angered me, it’s a low growl of a voice that seems to put people on edge. What THEY see (and this is what people have told me,) are my eyes. Apparently the look in my eyes is the most frightening to people. I wouldn’t know; I don’t look at my reflection when I’m sad or angry because it makes me feel ugly.

Now, of course, there’s never anything I can do about people online, or my bosses at work. I don’t even get angry as often as I used to, except when that stupid girl is around. My medication helps a lot when dealing with stupid people at work, or stupid people on Youtube. It’s a lot harder to piss me off nowadays, except, like I said before, when I’m PMSing or off my meds.

Don’t be afraid, person who may be reading this. Usually people only see my “black” side when they are pissing me off in person. Besides, it’s hard to see my eyes through a computer screen.

Jump into My Background

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.